Broken Mirror
by Arranqueme
Summary: Before now his markings have never elicited interest within him. Now, though, he finds himself wondering why he looks as he does. And how he must look to her... A lemony emo Ulquihime romance. My first FF, so I love your reviews. Chapters 6 on explicit.
1. Chapter 1

Night with her thickening wall imprisoned us,  
eyes groped for widening eyes the black withheld,  
I drank thy breath, o sweet, o poisonous!  
thy feet slept in my hands fraternal held;  
Night with her thickening wall imprisoned us.

-Charles Baudelaire, "The Balcony [Le Balcon]," from _Flowers of Evil/Fleurs du Mal, _trans. Lewis Piaget Shanks, 1931

_Please note: In this story, Ulquiorra sometimes thinks (though does not speak) in Spanish. It's minimal, and I've translated the terms at the bottom of each chapter if you're interested. _

Chapter One: Looking

The throne room is empty, the object unattended. He picks it up and looks at it.

He finds it absurd that the lines on his face should parallel so closely those on the face of his captive—hers, however, red, the tracks of sorrow now becoming close to permanent on her pale cheeks. And his?

Before now his markings have never elicited interest within him. He simply _was_; the form he had taken, in Aizen-sama's hands, was unimportant. The only significant considerations were his rank, strength, duty. Now, though, he finds himself wondering why he looks as he does.

And how he must look to her.

"Whatcha doing. Ulquiorra?" The sly tone unmistakable. How could Gin have slipped through his pesquisa? A burst of cold rage at being caught doing something as absurd, as human, as looking in a mirror. He places the mirror back on the table and returns his hand to his pocket.

The only consolation, if there is one, is that the object belongs to the contemptibly vain Ichimaru, who is therefore in a poor position from which to cast aspersions on the espada.

"I was simply wondering… whether such an object might be of comfort to Aizen-sama's captive."

Gin raises a brow.

"Her current state of sorrow is not only tedious but damaging to her health and powers. The woman might long for a human face to look at and this would at least give her-her own."

"That's quite a speech, from _you_."

Ulquiorra meets Gin's eyes without speaking.

"Y' really surprise me sometimes, Number Four. If I didn't know better, I'd say that's kinda a _compassionate_ thought." Gin's eyes are even more tightly closed than usual, his mouth adopting that particularly sardonic curve so loathed by all of the espada. "I didn't think you were capable of those feelings. Or _any_ feelings… though perhaps our buxom young guest has rubbed up some _heat_ inside ya?"

The slender espada brushes past the taller shinigami wordlessly. His face is impassive as always, but his thoughts brim with disgust.

Nnoitora, Grimmjow, Szayel, Gin–all degenerate in their appetites. Like the human trash he sprang from, Gin cannot believe that Ulquiorra's relationship with the woman is strictly in the service of Aizen-sama's interests.

But Gin follows, laughing. "Wait, Number Four!" When Ulquiorra doesn't stop, Gin uses shunpo to catch him. "Take it."

Now Ulquiorra _does_ stop, turning to face Gin, who instinctively takes a step backward. The shinigami extends his hand, the mirror in it. "Take it."

As always, Gin's face is inscrutable. The temptation to fire a cero at him is a tickle—but easily overcome. _Duty_.

"I want you to give it to her." Gin laughs and licks his thin lips. "I mean, we _all _want you to give it to her—especially if we get to watch. But right now I'm talking about the _mirror_."

Ulquiorra turns on his heel. _Vicioso_.

"Wait." Gin begins, in a more serious tone. "If it would make the girl happy, wouldn't Aizen-sama want you to provide it?"

The unusual formality of Gin's speech catches the espada off-guard.

Ulquiorra turns back. "Whatever serves my lord." Though he hates to remove his hand from his pocket, and even more to reach toward the shinigami, he does so, taking the mirror from Gin's hand and concealing it in his garments.

"I don't know why you espada don't like me," says Gin as Ulquiorra turns and walks away. "It's not like I never do anything for ya."

As he moves toward the corridors leading to the woman's room, the Fourth encounters Nnoitora. Surely this is no accident. The leering jackal seems to pop out of the walls regularly when Ulquiorra is en route to that location.

Nnoitora leans across the passageway, his back against the wall, his preternaturally long legs nearly reaching the other side. Ulquiorra pauses before the taller espada. Nnoitora does not move.

"What's that in your pocket? Or are you just—maybe-_happy_ to see our little pet?" the words drip from between Noitora's teeth. "Wouldn't I love to be a fly on the wall, or a bat on the ceiling maybe, in that room?"

_Perro. _

"I but do my duty to Aizen-sama. I suggest you find yours elsewhere before I remind you of our relative rank and strength."

Noitora stands to let the smaller espada pass. But there is one more insolence to be endured.

"Ulquiorra-_dono_," comes the voice from behind him, the exaggerated respect even more infuriating than mere familiarity. He stops and turns to face Nnoitora.

That forefinger itching again. But no mere insult to his person, however annoying, is worth damage to Aizen-sama's interests. Not now.

And Nnoitora knows it-knows that he is protected by the fourth's icy control and sense of duty.

Nnoitora narrows his eyes further. "You really are bloodless, aren't you? It's wasted on you."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Nor do I care."

"She's a woman. It's what they're for. The _only_ thing they're good for.

"I mean, if it were me, I'd be in there—just—_lapping _it up." And holding up two clawlike fingers in front of his face, the thin espada thrusts his numbered snakelike tongue between them.

Ulquiorra spins on his heel and continues on his way. Once again contempt swells in him. But with it confusion, a new and—it must be said-increasingly frequent phenomenon. He is sure that the gesture Nnoitora has just made is an insult worthy of punishment, but what does it mean? Why do these lower-ranking fools seem to have knowledge-and appetites-he himself lacks, despite their weak intellects and powers?

And that word—"bloodless." Absurdity. Of course he is bloodless. Blood is for human trash. It spews out of their thin skins at the slightest touch. _Basura. _Of course he is bloodless. Impenetrable. Unlike her. He could put a finger through her skin. Right through her. _Qu__é__ rid__í__culo_.

_Vicioso=Depraved one, "scum"_

___Basura=Trash_

___Qu__é__ rid__í__culo= How ridiculous_  



	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Mirror

He enters Orihime Inoue's room. She is standing in her characteristic pose, looking up at the barred window.

"Woman," he says from the doorway. His voice sounds louder than he had anticipated. She jumps a little. She hasn't even heard him come in. How pathetic. So few defences.

"Ulq—"

"I have something." He reaches into his pocket, pulling out the mirror. He wants to say something else: "Aizen-sama's orders." _Mentira_. _Why_.

"Yes," she said, looking down at her clasped hands.

Accustomed to sonido, now, she doesn't gasp or startle -as she had done so often, and so annoyingly, at the beginning. "Take it," he says, now at her side and extending the object to her.

She obediently receives it, but says nothing.

"Have you nothing to say?" Why does he want her to say something? He is not accustomed to being puzzled by his own words. Unpleasant.

Compliantly, her eyes on the floor. "Thank Aizen…-sama… for me."

He should turn and leave her now, but he cannot stop himself.

"Does it please you?"

"Yes." She doesn't even look at the object in her hands.

"Do you know what it is?"

At this, Orihime raises her eyes to meet his. She laughs.

"Of course I know what it is, silly. Who wouldn't?"

That is enough. Her eyes dark yet clear, transparent, deep. He turns to leave, but then turns back. _The laugh_.

"I—Aizen-sama—thought you might like to see a human face. That it would bring you peace."

A mistake. Her eyes narrow and her fists clench, pathetically. "A _human_ face? I want to see -?" And she starts to weep again. "_Peace_—." She collapses on her knees with her face in her hands. I want to see _their _faces… I love… It's not about …"

A failure. Rage at Gin Ichimaru rises within the espada as he stands before the woman's shuddering form. Why did he accept the mirror? It has only made the woman lose control again. _But she laughed. _

"Stop crying. It's depressing. "

How can she cry so much? Is there some never-dry fountain in her body from which these absurd spells are generated? Here, in this desert, she is like—like an insanely overflowing river. _River._

Suddenly he feels an unwonted heat in his head, uncanny—he isn't sure whether it was heat, now, or sound, like-a buzzing. He can sense that hot river in her body… tears gushing to the surface, the flow of liquid within her, the tributaries of throbbing veins and arteries underneath the thin, pale skin—he has seen them—and at the centre of it all, _that_….

How he ends up on his knees beside her he knows not. He lifts her head to look at her face. It is already red and swollen again, and a vein dully twitches at her temple. Their eyes meet. She shudders.

Where her warm chin touches his hand he can feel her life. It maddens him. He licks one teary eye slowly, experimentally. She doesn't move—doesn't even close the eye as his tongue explores its warm salty wetness. From corner to corner. _Lagrimal_. Then the other. She holds them—open. Then he drops his cool black lips to her throat and feels _it_, thick and warm, fragile and relentless, against his thirsty mouth. It is there. Against his will his eyes widen, then close. _El pulso. _

_El coraz__ó__n. _

_Arr__á__ncalo. El coraz__ó__n. _

The heat in his head is intolerable now and his ears are roaring. He can think of nothing but escape.

He rises to his feet. His exterior betrays nothing.

"Tend to yourself, woman. I will return with nourishment when necessary."

"Ulquiorra." She reaches toward him with one hand.

He wheels and leaves the room as quickly as possible. As he closes the door behind him, a wail. He hears a thin crack as the mirror hits the floor.

He pauses outside the door, listening to her sobs. Then he walks away.

_Mentira= _lie

_Lagrimal= e_ye corner, tear duct

_El pulso. __El coraz__ó__n. __Arr__á__ncalo. El coraz__ó__n= T_he pulse. The heart. Remove [tear] it. The heart.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Curiosity

He does not return. A day passes, then two, and though her meals arrive as usual, her guardian is absent. Or so she believes. Her sleep is troubled but, being Orihime, she nonetheless sleeps deeply enough that she doesn't notice the slight form that comes and goes silently in the night. _I must check to ensure her health. And to repel unwanted visitors. _But this hardly explains his ability to sit quietly for hours watching the vein in her neck beat steadily as she sleeps.

It seems inconceivable that he should seek out Grimmjow, but he is the most likely to know and, in his lack of bonds with the other espada, unlikely to talk. The whole matter seems something—_indecoroso_… and Ulquiorra is hardly going to take it to Stark or any other superior.

On the other hand, Grimmjow is no better than Nnoitora—Ulquiorra loathes the way the Sexta's eyes move over the woman's form. It fills him with an illogical rage.

Still, it cannot be helped. And Grimmjow's awareness of Ulquiorra's strength will ensure his silence.

"Grimmjow." The blue-haired espada is never hard to find.

"Hey, Ulquiorra, what brings you here? Slumming, are ya?" Number six-always ready for sparring, verbal or otherwise, despite the obvious dangers to his health.

"I have a question."

"A question?" Grimmjow turns to face the senior espada. "I tell you, Ulquiorra, you're really freaking me out. What's with you? Never hear you speak ten words to us _inferiors_, now a little time with a human and you get all chatty."

Ulquiorra ignores the obvious baiting, the broad contemptuous grin.

"So what does _el cuarto_ need? Want to know how to make 'em happy? "

"What does this mean?" And Ulquiorra repeats the gesture, not without awareness of the concomitant loss of dignity.

Grimmjow explodes in laughter. "Did _she _teach you that?"

"Satisfy the question."

"Satisfy!" Grimmjow is fully convulsed now. "Oh yeah, that'll do it."

Later, walking away, Ulquiorra is equally furious with Grimmjow and Nnoitora—and with himself. It had taken him a moment to understand Grimmjow's explanation, particularly because the bone-jawed fool had been laughing too hard to make much sense at first.

Once he had understood, he could think only of finding Nnoitora and firing a cero right into his filthy, snake-tongued mouth.

And yet his greatest anger he reserves for himself. His need to know.

And yet. Under his anger, something else: that flickering curiosity. The feeling with which this woman has cursed him since the day of their meeting.

He remembers her eye on his tongue-her pulse on his lips. And he cannot stop himself from thinking about enacting Nnoitora's degenerate suggestion on that lush, white, vein-traced body. Would he feel it _there_ too?

_El pulso._ _El coraz__ó__n_.

_indecoroso=_indecent

_el cuarto_=the fourth [male]


	4. Chapter 4

"Orihime Inoue."

She turns to him and her face brightens. "Ulquiorra! It's been-so long since you've come!"

_In truth not, woman. _

And then her eyes drop. She flushes. "Did I do—did I say something wrong? Is that why you didn't come?"

"My other duties have occupied me." His slitted eyes scan the room. He sees the mirror propped beside the bed. She has attempted, clumsily, to repair its break using some sort of elastic material of unknown provenance.

"The object displeased you."

"The object—oh! No… I was just so sad…. I'm sorry. It's the only gift you've given me and I do appreciate it, really."

_Gift. _"It was from—"

"Aizen-sama, I know. On his orders." She rolls her eyes. "But really, thank you. I even used it to fix my hair. How do I look?"

Reluctantly he turns those lamp-like eyes onto her. She catches her breath. She can feel them on her, like a searchlight—or an X-ray. Illuminating her. _Like when you hold your hand against a bright light and you see the veins under the skin_. She feels naked, _seen_ to her very core.

"You look well."

"_Well_?"

"Yes. " Evidently this is insufficient.

"You are apparently healthy, and you have gained mass, and perhaps therefore strength, in your short time with us."

"_Mass_?"

"Yes. You are clearly enjoying the nourishment Aizen-sama provides despite the fact that I have not been here to enforce your eating. Your appetite is remarkable. Almost worthy of Yammy, really."

"_WHAT_? Are you saying I look fat?"

"Would that be unwelcome?"

"Of _course_!"

"I see."

"That wasn't what I was asking anyway."

"What were you asking?"

"Why don't you ever really tell me what you _think_? It's like you're just saying what you think I want to hear, or what Aizen tells you to say, or something like that. It's so—cold."

"I am an espada. I do my duty."

"The _other_ espada talk to me—look at me when they see me, which isn't much I know, but… They have emotions, it seems, or—or something at least. Maybe you don't… really… like me or anything, but… Why can't you be more like—like—a person? "

Those all-seeing eyes remain fixed on hers.

"_Onna_. You and I are both quite aware that I am not a 'person.' The very thought revolts me. Humans sicken me. You have no idea, because you have only seen me like this, how unlike a person I am."

"You seem like a person to me. A sad one."

"_I am not_. A person. Nor am I "sad." I do my best to meet your needs, as I have been ordered, and I will do so as long as those orders remain in effect."

"Then meet my needs. Talk to me. Talk to me like you are now…. Like… for real. Or just play along and talk like a person. Just—talk for a while."

_An unhurried conversation_. It is surprisingly to his taste. "Very well. How should I proceed?"

"Tell me how I look. I used the mirror you brought me to make myself look nice."

"Then… very well. You look—nice."

"No, tell me in _your_ words: how do I look—really? To you?"

The same feeling, so sudden. _Leave, now. _Heat and buzzing in the head, and underneath it all that hunting, alert curiosity, winging over its prey, longing to swoop. _Leave, now. _

_In my words. You look like a river gushing out over the desert. You look like the sun of the human world that cannot be counterfeited even by Aizen-sama's godlike hand. The sun that I desire, though it would burn me, I who am of the night. You look like… taste..Suck. Bite...the way you eat the food I bring you, the way you eat it when you're hungry and you don't know how closely I'm watching you. You look like a tiny living fluttering thrumming bird, looking me in the eyes singing loud loud loud-even though I could swoop down on you and crush you instantly with one claw. You look like a shifting map, you map whose tremulous pulsing lines lead inexorably and convergingly and always to IT that I lust for…_

"Ulquiorra?"

Her words break through the buzzing.

"Yes, woman?"

"So—come on! How do I look?" She laughs.

"You look—nice. Your attentions to your appearance using the mirror are useful."

She laughs out loud, again. It flows over him. He must leave the room. _Leave, now_.

_More. More. In my words. _

He walks away. "I will return in an hour. With nourishment."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five: Thirst

In the room, again. His composure regained. She is eating, while he watches. _To make sure that all necessary nutrients are consumed._ Already accustomed to this and hungry as always, she ignores him. Unexpectedly she feels the absence of his eyes. She turns and sees that he has noiselessly moved to the bed. He stands beside it looking into her fractured mirror.

"Ulquiorra?"

He puts the mirror back in its place. "What is it, woman?"

"What are you doing?"

"Does it fall to you to interrogate me on my activities?"

She laughs. "Don't be so touchy. I mean—what were you doing with the mirror?"

"I was examining it. Such absurd human objects are not familiar to me."

"But you've seen it before-even before it was broken."

"Yes." _That is true_. "I was examining the breakage to see whether it might be repaired to better serve your needs." _Mentira. _

"That's not what you said at first!" Impossibly, ensnared by her words. "You were—you were looking at yourself! That's so cute—that's so—human!"

He sonidos to her side in an instant and seizes her wrist. She gasps. "Woman. Do not forget to whom you are speaking."

Her eyes meet his. The gasp—not fear but pain. _Can she really lack fear in this moment? Does she fail to realize how quickly I could end that feeble pulsing?_

"You _were_ looking at yourself." Seriously now. She will not avert her eyes.

He releases her wrist and puts distance between them.

"Orihime Inoue."

"Y-yes."

"What is it you see in the mirror?"

"Well-My face, of course, like how do I look, are my eyes swollen from crying so much, how is my hair, do I have something on my cheek or in my teeth, you know…"

"Is a human face beautiful to you?"

"Of course it is! But-not just because it's pretty or something."

"Is it beautiful because it has nothing in its teeth, for example?"

"_What_? Jeez, you say the weirdest things. No—what I was _going _to say is that I check my face in the mirror, but I'm not really looking at it to see whether it's beautiful. It's more like… making a bed or something."

"A bed."

She sighs. "A human face is _beautiful_ because… well, I don't know. Sora's-my brother's face was so—so-beautiful before—he… And… My friends' faces are all beautiful-in different ways. Their eyes. People say—people say that the eyes are the window to the soul."

"That's human absurdity. If they are the window to the soul, then one should be able to see the soul through looking into them."

"That's right. If you look into people's eyes, it's like—looking into their hearts."

With another step he is beside her, gripping her upper arm in one hand and her jaw in the other. His eyes burn into hers.

"Can I see it now?"

"What are you doing? You're hurting my arm." _And your reiatsu, thick, thick. _But she does not flinch.

He relaxes his grip only slightly. "Your soul, woman. Show it to me. Your heart."

"Let go of me—please…"

"Show it to me. I want to see it. Will I see it if I break the windows?"

She is not afraid. Orihime takes a breath, closes her eyes, and then opens them and looks into the slitted emerald orbs so close to her own. The intensity is painful, and she feels heat spreading—paradoxically-from the places where his cool hands touch her.

"Now do you see it… Ulquiorra?" As before, her voice betrays no fear, though his slim hands could break her in two.

"I see nothing, woman." _Mentira._ And for the second time he releases her, but this time he puts no distance between them. He looks at the window. Orihime takes a step backwards –why does the heat not subside? Instead it seems to be spreading outward from the places he touched, slowly, heavily. She can feel her chest rising and falling with her breath, straining against the leaden blanket of his reiatsu.

Ulquiorra turns his eyes onto her again. This time, he says nothing. _Like Grimmjow I will sate my eyes on you. _His eyes move over her body. Instinctively Orihime puts an arm in front of her breasts. A black-tipped hand pulls the arm away.

After a moment, he speaks.

"I must be repulsive to you, woman."

Orihime laughs awkwardly. Her face burning.

"Is the conclusion that obvious?"

"No, I was just thinking that…" Orihime can feel her cheeks flushing even more. And her body. _Why am I so hot_.

"What were you thinking?"

She looks down, blushing furiously. "I can't say."

One powerful arm turns her face toward him again, but her eyes remain locked on the floor. "I order you to speak your thoughts. Do you think that your disgust offends me? That your opinions should truly concern me? Affect me?"

"No—I…"

"I am merely-curious."

"I can't. It's too embarrassing."

"Don't be ridiculous. Remember that you are in my charge. Answer me."

Orihime lifts her eyes to his. "I—I…"

"Woman, this is tedious. Speak."

"I don't know why you care-or want to know-or what you're doing, but I… you're—you're beautiful—and—I-" She breaks into sobs again. "Stop it! Just stop it!"

For Ulquiorra this state is her most repulsive. Her lack of control, her irrationality infuriate him. _Tantas l__á__grimas_. So why, now, does he begin to lap at that intolerably gushing tide?

She moans. "Ulqui…o…rra…. stop. Please stop."

"Why should I stop, woman?" His tongue continues its work. _So thirsty_. Though his own thoughts scream _escape_. And _mujer_. Suddenly he cannot understand his own mind. _That I should be confused, I who see through the dark. _

_She said beautiful. _

"Because I… I… you…ohh… Ul…."

He is licking lower now, mouthing and licking her cheeks, moving his hand from her chin to the back of her head; with a handful of Orihime's coppery hair he pulls her head back to expose her neck. His other hand moves to the small of her back and flexes her soft body backward. His mouth roves over her throat ravenously. Now he can hear nothing but that hot buzzing and the racing of her pulse. It grows faster, louder. He hears and feels it around him.

"Because this… it's… for… people…

_For people._

"…Who _love_ each other…" she moans. Her eyes are closed. Her body sags against the supporting arm on her back. But she is not dying. Her power. _My reiatsu. She endures it_.

"Ridiculous." He murmurs against her neck. _Su flaqueza. That sound. Hambre. El alma. _

Suddenly, without awareness, he growls. At this uncharacteristically animalistic sound, Orihime's eyes fly open and her body shrinks from him. Astonished and disgusted at his own lack of control—_like the lowest Hollow_-he releases her. At this sudden movement she staggers and would fall were it not for his speed. For a dizzying moment he feels the soft heat of her along the entire length of his body. He swoops her into his arms and gazes down at her.

"Oh God!" she has stopped weeping, thankfully, but her face flushes red again and she laughs anxiously. "Put me down!"

"You were about to fall. You might have harmed yourself. Aizen-sama would be displeased."

"Harmed? No—I mean—I'm so heavy!" She averts her head. "I'm sure I weigh more than you! This is so embarrassing!"

_This foolish creature_. "_Onna_. You conceal what meager strength you have with idiocy. Your idiocy is an act. Cease your annoying hysterics at once."

"It's just that—"

And he throws her. She catches her breath. A foot brushes the ceiling. He has tossed her like a balloon, like a rag doll. _Now _she will be harmed. She braces her body as her arms reach for something, anything. But he moves as silently as a cat to catch her, as lightly as he tossed her. She opens his eyes to meet his grave ones.

"Do you not understand, woman? The difference between us?"

"Yes." She closes her eyes. "Yes." Noiselessly, tears begin to seep from under her lashes.

Sonido carries them across the room again in a heartbeat. He lays her on the bed and stands over her. _Her weak body. Leave, now. _But she opens her eyes and meets his, her limbs loose and soft on the bed before him. The gaze that meets his now is calm and penetrating. The shock of that calmness widens his eyes and nostrils.

Once again he is surprised by his own action. He reaches forward and traces his forefinger along the black line of her bodice, pausing in the centre of her chest. Her eyes do not waver; her body remains acquiescent, but a faint shudder passes over her. His pressure flows over her like thick fog, pressing her into the bedclothes. Her head swims.

His fingers deftly unfasten the bodice to reveal her chest. His eyes move from the pulsing veins in her throat to the soft intact skin of her chest and back to her eyes. They meet his unhesitatingly, though her eyelids are heavy. Her breasts, still covered by the soft white fabric of her garment, rise and fall with her ragged breaths.

"Take it…" she murmurs.

"What?"

"Take it… off."

_Tantas l__á__grimas= _so many tears

_Mujer_=woman

___Su flaqueza... Hambre. El alma=_Her weakness. Hunger. The soul.  



	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six: Tasting

As Ulquiorra fixes his incandescent eyes on Orihime's, the slitted pupils dilate as if he's straining to see. He pauses.

But then he pulls at Orihime's complicated bodice until she lies before him naked from the waist up-or nearly so.

"My-bra too." She murmurs.

"Bra." He can't understand her remaining garment. A relic of her human dress.

The woman reaches behind herself with an awkward motion and the garment springs open, freeing her large breasts. She pulls the bra away, but his eyes are soon frustrated by her hands, each of which futilely attempts to cover an ample mound of flesh. Her face is red again.

"What is it? Do you wish to dress again?"

"No—it's just—I feel—so _naked_… you-standing there… looking at me so-_seriously_ like that."

"How foolish. You _are_ naked, woman."

"Yes, but-I— you're in all your clothes-and I'm not. I feel stupid."

"I see. So-If I remove my garment, you will release your flesh to my sight." _Never before, such negotiations_. _She will see it. Let her._

"Yes—I want-to see—you." Her eyes well with tears again.

He discards his upper garment and stands before her in his hakama. A new wave of pressure flows over her, immobilizing her almost completely. _This feeling—melancholy, so hollow… _Her eyes, alone retaining the capacity to move, flick over his hard alabaster torso. She looks at the arrancar body—and at the hole-for a moment without expression. _How did she put it—naked. _

"Do you fear me, woman? Do I repel you like this?" As he points vaguely to the hole in his chest, Orihime is reminded of someone, images from European books. His slim dynamic hands. His wounded chest. _Behold him._

_Fear. No, no._ Beside his cool hard white slenderness she feels floridly pink, hot, and overblown.

"_Espada... sword... _it suits you… you're…so hard and narrow."

"_Estoy hecho una espada_."

"What does that mean? "

"Difficult to explain in your language. It means "I am built like a sword"; 'I am made like a swordsman'—and also 'I am thin as a rake,' as you would say." He stands back and Orihime feels her chest lighten.

Her brow furrows, then she laughs. "You—you-made a joke! I can't believe it." Released from some of the weight of his reiatsu, she reaches for him with both arms. As she does so her breasts are revealed to him, made almost perfectly round by her reclining position. _Soft, soft_, each traced with the finest blue lines converging around the nipple. _So pink_. His cool green gaze hardens each nipple like an icy breeze, and he watches attentively as the delicate areolae shrink and thrust forward.

He stands aloof.

She moans, mortified but insistent, her arms still extended. Her face flushes. "Ulquiorra, please…." She closes her eyes… "I—I missed you…. I'm—so-lonely…"

He steps forward, and one rosy trembling hand reaches up to trace the four on his chest. He allows her to pull him onto her, and feels, against his slender muscled chest, the crush of her warm breasts, pressing everywhere, an abundance of warm softness that presses around the edges of his hole… an odd sensation, that warmth there, her flesh almost spilling into his centre. He doesn't want to move, but then he becomes aware of the heat emanating from elsewhere in her body, heat, and a scent….

"Kiss me." Her eyes still wet.

"Kiss you?"

"With your mouth. Put your mouth on mine."

"I know." But he doesn't know. His cool black lips touch hers tentatively. He allows her to teach him, and though he pulls his head back a little when her tongue begins to explore his mouth, he permits it, and later returns it in kind. _Kiss. _

He kisses her—or lets her kiss him?—for a long time, feeling her warmth and parsing the myriad scents of her body. Not just the obvious soul smell. Her hair-the human food just consumed-some kind of citrusy soapy smell, presumably from her bathing-the cloth of her skirt-and underneath it all that other scent, which grows stronger and headier as they kiss. His hands begin to move over her body the way he allowed his eyes to move when she was still clothed. He marvels again at the thinness of her skin and cannot resist the temptation to pierce it delicately inside one elbow with a black fingernail.

"Ow!" she complains, pulling her mouth from his. _Pain from such a trivial wound_. Her eyes wide. "What are you doing?"

"Tasting." He raises the arm to his lips and tongues her blood, his eyes on hers. His hunger feels so Hollow-like, so predatory, that he is astonished to feel a different, novel sensation wash over him as the salty taste fills his mouth. _I taste you—I will not break you. _

_Not sensation. Not thought. Something else. To protect. Odd. _

"All—all right. But you won't… you aren't…"

"Don't look away. Don't let your attention waver."

She places her lips on his again and the taste of her blood mingles with her mouth-tastes. Suddenly that other scent is maddening him. _Nnoitora_. But he has to know. _If she will tolerate it. And even if she won't._


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: Melt

Ulquiorra breaks away from the woman's mouth and pushes her arms into the bedclothes. It takes so little strength to hold her; under the softening weight of his reiatsu her body has assumed an extraordinary laxity that fuels his excitement. _Yes. Excitement. Como…de batalla campal. But different. _

Holding her arms, he moves his head downward, avoiding her throat this time for fear of losing control. Now, her breasts. Their softness is beyond anything. _Softness is weakness. But—this—yes. Yes._ _This_. He nuzzles her flesh and tongues the erect nipples. She moans and pushes her breasts upward into his mouth. _Once again she enters me,_ more fully this time as she insistently pushes against him.

The feel of the soft flesh against his lips and tongue detains him even as the other scent inflames his dormant instincts. _I know this. Absurd. Impossible. _Orihime's body is beginning to tense and writhe. _Astonishing that she can move at all. _

Releasing one soft arm, still moving his lips and tongue on the woman's breasts, Ulquiorra pushes his hand down her side and along her thigh until he feels the heat between her legs through the folds of white cloth still blocking his access to her lower body.

"Ahhhhhhhhhh…." She sighs and places her free hand on the back of his head. _Such familiarity_. But. But.

While his hierro has nothing like the sensitivity of human skin, each hair conducts her touch below his armoured exterior. Sensation shoots down his spine. He moves his head downward and rests it on her soft cloth-draped belly, releasing her remaining arm at the same time.

"Ulquiorra, I-want—oh—don't-—you—ohhhhhh," she moans, now moving both of her hands through his thick black hair. He can feel it, alive, bristling. _Ah_.

He raises himself on an elbow to look at her. "You're speaking nonsense. You want? What do you want?"

She meets his gaze but flushes again. "I—I—I can't-speak it."

"Then shall I desist?"

"Oh—" her eyes widen in panic. "No." And more abjectly, "Please."

He leaps off the bed to stand beside her again. Her body drapes loosely over the bed. Her skirt remains, a fold of cloth dipping into the valley between her closed legs. He reaches out a hand to the place again, feeling the heat through the cloth. _So much hotter_. _I will go mad. I cannot. I must not allow myself release_. With a motion she cannot see he sweeps the cloth upward with one hand to gain access with the other.

"The scent."

"What?"

"I've been smelling it."

"You what? Oh God. When?"

"Every time I've been with you, but faintly. Now a lot. And when we put our mouths together it got stronger and stronger."

"Oh God. That's so embarrassing, I'm sorry."

His eyes lock with hers. "Why?" And without releasing her gaze, he slowly slides a hand into her soaking panties, then withdraws it and raises it to his nose, sniffing luxuriantly like an animal. His lips pull back slightly from his teeth and his eyes narrow.

"Oh-Ulquiorra, what-are you doing?" She tears her eyes from his.

"Scenting you, _onna_." And he pulls her panties off in one swift fluid motion, spreading her legs apart at the same time, his fingers pressing too hard on her soft thighs.

"Surely it must have occurred to you that my senses are more acute than yours. I could smell you from across this room. And much farther than that." _I could find you anywhere. _

"It's so-embarrassing. And it—makes me feel like prey. Like you're going to-eat me or something." Her legs close a little.

_Nnoitora would find that amusing. _

He doesn't answer. He is looking at her, there. And he reaches forward to pull her legs apart again, and holds them. Then tentatively he moves a hand forward to cup Orihime's brimming cunt. Raising his eyes to her face, he moves his fingers slowly. like a spider's legs, back and forth across her swelling lips, until she can feel him find her hot wet opening. He slides a cool white finger into her, experimentally, and withdraws it again.

"Ohhhhh…" she moans. _Hot. Wet. River. Woman. _The buzzing in his head has returned again and the scent crowds his mind.

"I want to see you." And he rips the skirt down one side and whisks it off her body.

"Oh—my skirt—"

"_Tonta_. You'll have another."

He positions himself on the bed beside her and sweeps his eyes over her, taking in the full soft breasts with their rigid pink tips, the slender waist, below it the soft little mound of belly on which he rested his head, the swelling of her full hips, the pale curving legs, and in their centre the source, now hidden to him. She has closed her legs again.

"Open yourself to me."

"I-"

"Part your legs. And do not close them again unless I tell you to."

Her eyes on his, she slowly spreads her legs. And watches as his eyes descend.

"You're so pink here—red. Like a wound." He parts the delicate inner lips again with one hand, and with the other inserts his middle finger.

"Ohhhhhhh…"

"Does it hurt you?"

"No—no-please…" Her eyes are half-closed now, her lips slightly parted. He moves swiftly forward to touch her mouth with his, slipping his cold tongue between her teeth, but moves back again so he can watch his hands on her. _Soft. Weak. Soft_.

_Another_. This one his forefinger. His most sensitive digit, always fully awake with the incipient prickling of nascent cero. How can she be so incredibly wet? Already her juices are flowing down his fingers and onto his hand. Ulquiorra begins to move his hand ever so slightly and feels her body respond, pushing against his hand the way her breasts pushed against his mouth. _Another_. She is moaning, spreading.

_And another_. How astonishing that she should be so liquid. _Hot. Wet. River_. He has had his hand inside a human body before, but only to wound, to kill. This feels different—the cooperative slipperiness, so distinct from the _sangrienta_ sensations of his killing custom, from the thick gore and metallic reek of blood. Her body pushes against him; she moans with pleasure and urgency. _It's like everything's melting. Like he's melting me_. _I can't move. _

_And the last_—and his whole brutal delicate slender hand is inside her body. Her eyes closed, she sighs deeply. Ulquiorra begins to move his hand ever so slowly with her rhythms as her flesh trembles and flows around him.

Then.

"What—Why did you stop?" She almost wails.

"Silence. I am listening."

She obeys, and he closes his eyes with his hand inside her. And feels it, hears it, throbbing there too. _Ah_. _Ah_.

He eases his hand out of her carefully. _The other thing. I want. _

"Did you think someone was coming in?" She thinks he was listening to noises in the corridor.

"If anyone comes through that door he will die instantly at my hand." _This hand, so fresh from your body. _

He sniffs his fingers, then slides one into his mouth, his eyes locked on hers.

"I—" She closes her legs again and blushes. Her embarrassment, her shame, are irritating to him.

"I told you not to close your legs again until ordered to do so."

"I—I know, I just—"

He seizes her thighs and pulls them roughly apart, positioning himself between them and flexing her legs back for unobstructed access. Then he bends forward and presses his inky mouth to her cunt.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" He is surprised by the intensity of her gasp and the buck of her hips against his mouth-and pulls back for a moment. Then he moves his open mouth to her slit again and holds it there, his lips pressed against her, his nostrils flaring and falling as he takes in her scent again and again. Frustrated, panting, she begins to undulate her hips against his mouth. He stabs his long tongue directly into the opening of her cunt, precipitating a new round of bucking and moaning. Her juices flow over his tongue and onto his marble chin as he licks around and inside the entry. _Like she's melting onto me. _

In the panopticon, Tousen sits amid flickering screens. Suddenly he turns and stands, head raised expectantly.

"Gin."

"Well, yeah. Who'd y' think it'd be?"

"Perhaps the fourth. He also comes to consult the screens."

Gin laughs. "I bet." Then he moves to look at one of the screens. "Well, well..."

"What?"

"It looks like our cold Number Four is kind of—_occupied_—at the moment."

Tousen moves to stand beside him. "What do you mean?"

Gin snickers again. "Well, it's a little hard to tell from the screen, but he seems to have his face between Orihime Inoue's legs right now. Not to put too fine a point on it."

"This is an outrage. Call Lord Aizen."

No need, it appears. "What new crisis, Kaname?" Aizen-sama steps through the door, smiling indulgently.

Tousen speaks first. "More insubordination from the espada. This time from an unexpected source."

"Are you sure, Kaname?" smiles Aizen. "You're always so quick to find fault with my lovely children."

"This is the Fourth."

Aizen throws his head back and laughs. "Insubordination? From Ulquiorra? Now _that _would be interesting."

"I don't know about you, Captain, but from where I stand, this looks a lot more like subordination than _in_subordination." Gin motions toward the screen. "Take a look. Mmmm—mmm."

Aizen looks at the screen, his face impassive. Then he turns to Tousen. "Just turn it off."

"What?" Tousen's voice strains. "He's directly defying your orders!"

Aizen smiles again, but his voice has assumed that meaningful cold purr. "The loyalty of Ulquiorra Schiffer is beyond question. His only orders were to make our captive comfortable and see to her protection."

Gin leers in Tousen's direction. "And really, Director-General, I'd say he's doing a _wonderful_ job of it all."

Tousen clenches his jaw. "This is dangerous. To order if nothing else."

Aizen waves his hand dismissively. "Hardly. Not now. We're too close. " He casts an eye to the screen again. "Let him take what pleasure he will. Or can. His real duties will soon be upon him."

"Your affection for him blinds you to his impertinence."

Gin snorts. "Affection! That's a good one."

Aizen sweeps from the room.

Gin follows, but turns back to Tousen at the doorway. "I think it looked kind of _sweet_, really. Makes me wish Aizen had let _me_ bring _my_ own captive with me when we came here. Matsumoto and some sake. Delicious. Ah well. Watching is fun too." He turns and leaves without registering Tousen's snort of outrage.

Back in Orihime's room, Ulquiorra is not blind to the possibility of detection. He himself has observed the room before and knows one of his superiors might do the same. _I don't care. Nothing matters. Madness. A woman. Meaningless. _His thoughts are anarchy.

He has moved slightly upward from the frilled opening of Orihime's body, now kissing and sucking the tender fleshy lips that would conceal the opening were it not for his insistent attentions. Indeed, she is swollen and spread wide before him now, and his greedy eyes match his mouth's intensity. He stops to pull the lips apart and study her cunt once more.

Though words have deserted her, replaced by little yelps and moans of incoherent pleasure, Orihime raises her head to look at him. He meets her eyes and feels her body tremble.

"Ulquiorrrrrrrra…."

"What is it?"

"Don't—stop….here….love… touch…here…me-my-"

And she raises a quavering hand and touches herself, just above where he has been lapping at her. "Here…"

"Here?" He touches the spot with a finger and feels a responding tremor.

She leans back on the pillow, closing her eyes. "Please… please…"

His fingers pull at the lips and reveal a tiny bit of flesh. He places his lips around it and feels it harden, like her nipples, in his mouth. _Ah. Ah. _He licks at it slowly, experimentally, while watching her face. Her hips shift and she moans. The scent intensifies again, and he slides the fingers of one hand into her opening while using the other to maintain his mouth's free access to her now-swollen clit. Her moans become more urgent, almost like cries of pain. He pulls his head up without removing his fingers from her sodden cunt.

"Does it hurt?"

"No! God—Ulquiorra—don't—stop—" and she pushes his head back down.

It's hard to imagine that Nnoitora could know of something that would actually bring pleasure. But Ulquiorra is forced to admit that the jackal was right about this. The espada is stunned by Orihime's transfiguration: the flushed, writhing body, the swollen lips, the closed, fluttering eyelids, the moans. He has licked away all traces of her former schoolgirlish _tonter__í__a. _

He, on the other hand, has lost his steely rationality. While his outward appearance remains calm, a great panting beast stalks through his mind. His chaotic thoughts run to and fro, and any logic, it seems, flees like a deer before the beast's onslaught. As he licks and sucks at Orihime's body, he begins to feel trepidation. His destructive appetites. _Leave, now._

But before he can pull away, the scent intensifies again. Her wetness now is all around him, all over his face. He realizes with shock that his hair, even the remains of his mask are touched by her juices. This recognition stirs the thought-beast further. Its long tail swishes.

She seems to have entered another world. Though her hands continue to tangle in his black hair, her eyes are closed, and panting and moans are her only exhalation. Her hips buck against him with greater and greater power and her moans become louder. He realizes that some denouement is at hand, plunging his fingers in and out of her slippery cunt while tonguing her clit relentlessly. Pulling his head into her, Orihime locks her legs around him and comes wildly, moaning his name. His tongue against her, he feels the seizure and then slackening of her body, and the rhythmic clenching of her flesh around his fingers. He closes his eyes and is still.

Her eyes open and she pulls him upward. Her pleasure taken, she seems younger, awkward again. She flushes red as he looks at her.

"Ulquiorra—I—oh, I'm sorry. I didn't… That was so… "

She seems herself again. He is not. He doesn't know what he wants next, but he wants. The thought-beast ravens. He has to leave before he hurts her. _El alma_. Is that it? He wants. Thirsty.

"Don't you want to—you know…"

He leaps off the bed abruptly and picks up his coat.

"Where are you going? Stay-hold me—please… don't go…"

"Cleanse yourself, woman."

And swiftly dressed, he sweeps from the room. She begins to weep.

Not far down the corridor he encounters Nnoitora. _Not now. Not him. _

"Ah, just back from a little visit, eh?" The sickening leer.

"I am performing my duties."

Then Nnoitora leans down to him and slowly, provocatively sniffs his mask. _Of course. He could tell right away. _

Nnoitora laughs. "Smells like _hard_ work."

Ulquiorra exercises restraint despite his disordered thoughts. He moves past Nnoitora slowly and heads directly to his chambers.

Later, cleansed of her scent and freshly dressed, he muses. Regret is futile. _A lo hecho, pecho_.

But he must never lose control again.

_Como…de batalla campal= _as in pitched battle

_Tonta=_foolish woman

_sangrienta= _bloody

_tonter__í__a=_ foolishness, idiocy

_A lo hecho, pecho= _what's done is done [but in Spanish, the saying means that what's done goes "in the chest," or in the heart]


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight: Gift

A day in the human world, however unpleasant some of its duties, comes as a respite. But Ulquiorra finds himself looking at the humans. Some have hair like hers. Others, though few, her opulent form. Once he hears her silly lighthearted laugh, or one like it. Yet nowhere does he see her—or feel anything like her spiritual pressure. _Unique. And uniquely powerful._

And yet she is like them in many ways. Her triviality, her silliness, her love for talk. He watches them as they speak. So much noise. _Tanta pl__á__tica_. They greet each other, organize the most trivial events into stories. Attribute meaning to meaninglessness.

Before now he has never thought of his own life as a story. With a beginning. Dim images; strife, a quest for power, solitude. The coming of Aizen-sama. And with an end. Dark. Unknown. Inevitable. Solitary. And—but—a place for the woman. In the story.

Ideas and images swim to the surface of his consciousness, but he cannot organize them into anything that makes sense. That points forward.

In frustration he shakes his head. These thoughts are beneath him. And so too is the action he takes when, seizing on a sudden whim the opportunity provided by his invisibility, he takes something for her. _Gift. Like the other one. Her promise. When she came to us. Forever. _

Once through the garganta, however, he feels the object weighing on him despite its small size. _Destroy it_.

He will not go to her.

But he does. She is sleeping, on her side, and does not wake. He looks down at her and listens to her steady breathing. Then he squats beside the bed and moves his head toward hers until he can feel her warm breath on his face. He closes his eyes. He is tempted to wake her. Instead, he gently places the object on the pillow beside her. He rises, looks down once more, and silently glides from the room.

Orihime dreams. Her body becomes restless and she whimpers. She is there, in Karakura Town, in the room. Saying goodbye. She leans down over Kurosaki-kun. _Kiss him. I love you. Goodbye. Forever_. She presses her lips to his and Kurosaki-kun opens his eyes. They are huge, green, slitted. She steps back and Kurosaki-kun rises. His face changes again, into a mask—his Hollow mask. He advances toward her. He will kill her. The mask breaks off and under it Sora's face is revealed. Then it too twists, splits to reveal a mask below. Kurosaki-kun's bedroom begins to shake and shatter, and she falls through its fragmented floor, down, down, until something grabs her by the hair…

"Ow." Her eyes fly open. Something _is_ pulling her hair. She feels the side of her head and finds…something… tangled there. After a moment of tugging and untangling, she finds it. A bracelet. _Who_… _Not like the other one. This is just a bracelet. The stones are so green. Like… _

_Oh. Pretty_. Idly, she puts it on her wrist, rises, and begins to dress herself. _That night._

Saying goodbye to Kurosaki-kun. She chose him—why? Tatsuki, Ishida-kun… either of them might have had an equal claim on that single farewell. Tatsuki is, well, Tatsuki… _brave, kind, fierce_… and Ishida's sweetness and goodness have featured in her dreams before. _Like a prince. Noble. Courtly. Brilliant. And Chad. Stoic, brave, solid Chad. So why Kurosaki-kun? _

She fastens her clothes and runs her fingers through her hair. Standing over him, saying goodbye to him and to everything, it had seemed to her that his lips contained all the nectar of life, and that she might just suck it all out in one last long draught before the lid clanged shut on her forever.

She knows she is a creature of appetite. Her own hands know her body and its yearnings. Her bad thoughts. She blushes to think of her impulses and where they might have led. To the breaking of the promise, and danger for her friends. _But I didn't do it. Didn't kiss him. Didn't wake him_.

_Kurosaki-kun is good. Protects me. Is kind_.

She picks up her cracked mirror and looks into it.

_But he never really—sees me. The way I see him. _

_Or the way he looks at Rukia. _

_Or the way…._

_How can I be thinking like this. My friends. My friends. _

_Traitor. _

_Whore_.

And she puts the mirror down and buries her face in her hands.

Ulquiorra stalks the corridors of Las Noches restively. For several hours he resists. _I will not go. _

But after half a day has passed, he cannot stop himself from going to the panopticon. Tousen is absent, thankfully, and Ulquiorra moves directly to the screen. There she is. On her bed. Weeping, no doubt. _No_.

His eyes widen. She is naked, her legs spread, and in front of her, the mirror. His bracelet on her wrist. Her hands are busy _there. _

He flows from the room and toward her.

He enters silently and observes for a moment. What is she thinking about? Some accursed human _basura_? That pseudo-shinigami?

"Ul-Ul—oh—please—oh—f—f—fuck…." the mirror discarded now, her eyes closed, one hand holds her nether lips apart while the other strokes the place where he gave her pleasure. "Ulqui-orrra." _My name_. He steps forward.

"Woman."

"Oh—God!" Her eyes fly open and her hands flutter with equal speed to cover her breasts. Her legs snap shut and she writhes in humiliation before him.

"H—How long have you been standing there?"

"What were you doing with the mirror?"

"I—oh God. Please…"

"Is that what you call 'making a bed'?"

She looks up at him. His pupils are tiny slits, his nostrils flared, his mouth a thin hard line of bitterness. His voice as level and expressionless as ever.

"Or is that—how did you say it—for 'people who love each other'?"

She claws at the bedclothes, pulling them over her nakedness.

"W—Why are you so angry?"

_I don't know. _"Angry? Don't be a fool. I just want to know."

Tears begin to flow from her eyes.

"Don't cry. It sickens me. Tell me what you were doing."

She raises her eyes to his. They burn out of her red face. "I was doing what you did to me. Again."

"Without me."

"Yes, without you! I was—lonely. Sad. It—it just—happened. "

"No. I—forbid you."

"_What_?" she looks at him, stunned. Then a change comes over her face. Her eyes meet his defiantly.

"I was lonely—without you."

"I see."

Holding his eyes, she pulls the bedclothes away from her form. _Her wrist. The bracelet. Mine. _

"Cover yourself. Dress. I see you found the bracelet." _Gift_.

"Oh—yes—thank you!" _So easily pleased. So easily distracted_. Pulling the sheets back over her body, she brandishes her braceleted arm. "The stones—they're green. Just like—thank you."

"In any case I see that you are well. I need not stay here longer. I'll go. Dress yourself."

"What? You're just going to leave again? But I've been alone. It's been over a day. I'm so—please don't." Her forehead creases, then smooths. Making a bed. Her eyes find his. She throws the covers off her body again. Naked before him except for his bracelet. _Gift. Mine. _

"Cover yourself. Or dress. Or sleep. I have duties elsewhere." _Leave, now. _

"I'm more comfortable like this. You want me to be comfortable, don't you?"

"All right. It doesn't matter."

"It doesn't matter." She mimics his stony delivery, cupping her breasts in her hands. "You can go if you want."

"Don't mock me, woman. It is not yours to order my arrival or departure." His eyes and hands itch for her body. The smell fills his senses.

"So you want to know what I was doing?" She pulls at her nipples. _Pink. Pink_.

"It doesn't matter."

"Oh, really? I thought you wanted to know. Well, I'll tell you." She spreads her legs and smiles at him. Her face is red. But she is brave in her anger. Her desire. Her loneliness. He will not look.

"There's no need. My duties—"

"You see, I was lonely, and I was—thinking of my friends. And then I thought about you. And what we did. And I thought, 'what did he see when he kissed me, there?' So I picked up the mirror and looked at myself. And then I remembered how it felt when you put your hands there, and your mouth there, and how I wanted you to—"

"Don't."

She raises her chin and, hot eyes still locked on his, face still flushed, begins to stroke herself again. In spite of himself his eyes move to that sticky centre—alive, vibrating, wet and glossy with her arousal. His bracelet there on her wrist. In the wetness. When he looks to her face again, he sees that her eyes are brimming with tears.

_Don't. _

Once again he is at her side, impatiently flicking her hands aside, supplanting them with his own. He flings himself down beside her, his hands roving all over her body, roughly, crudely this time, his fingers sliding up into her pulsing wet opening, roaming over her heavy breasts, tracing the complex arcs of her waist and hips, caressing her quivering throat.

"Ul—quiorrrrraaa…" She is so ready for him. _Again_.

"Woman."

"Mmmmmmm…" she closes her eyes. His hands are welcome. _Again_.

"Kiss me. Woman."

Her eyes fly open in surprise, and she turns her body, raising her eager mouth to his. He lets her kiss him at first, but as the thought-beast quickens, his own mouth turns ravenous. _Again_. He devours first her mouth and then the rest of her body, tracing the tracks of their last meeting.

His fingers and lips plunge into her cunt again and again until she feels like she must be nothing but one trembling wet membrane, wracked with pleasure after pleasure yet still hungering, her breasts throbbing for his touch, her waist and hips carved by his fingers, her whole body like a thrumming harp plucked by moonlight, awakened by his pale hand. His reiatsu pushes her farther and farther into delirium.

"Woman."

"Mmm…"

"When you were saying my name and touching yourself."

"Mmmm."

"What were you thinking?"

"I was—no—can't—say it."

He pushes his fingers into her, harder. "Say it."

She turns her head so his eyes cannot reach her. "Imagining—remembering—what you did—but also—what—we didn't do—I wanted."

"Something—you wanted."

"Yes—still—want."

"I see." He resumes the slow motions of his hands, punctuating them with licks and kisses from those beautiful obsidian lips. She moans.

"And you used words."

"Words… Oh—Oh … God. Yes. Really—bad."

"What were they?"

"You—won't—like."

"Look at me. And say it."

And she does. Somehow, she raises her head, and though her mind spins when he fixes his heady gaze on her, she says it. "_Fuck me_."

The words are so crude, so unlike her. He knows what they mean. His head reels with a wild excitement. This is what her scent was telling him, the maddening juices on his face, the hunting beast in his mind that urged him on to more and caused him to fear for her. _But can she endure it_?

"You know I am not human."

"I—know." She holds his gaze.

"I am not built as you are. Even in this form there are differences. Some of which you have seen."

"Yes."

_Leave, now_. Such a thing should not be attempted. But the scent maddens him again. He pulls his hand away from her cunt and looks at it reflectively.

"What—are you-?"

"Thinking. About the last time."

She sprawls on her back in front of him. Her legs apart. _Possibly_. _I don't care. It doesn't matter. Yes. I want. Locura. _The thick buzzing starts and the head-beast yawns, rises, and licks its lips. He raises his eyes to hers.

"Say it."

"My body and heart…."

"Not that. Your words. Look at me. Say my name. And say it."

"Ulq—"

"And only if it is your will."

_My will. Like coming here. No, different. My desire. Why. Traitor. Wrong. Love? Something. Sorrow. Both. But I do. Want it. _Her voice hesitant at first, she raises her eyes and speaks.

"Ul—Ulquiorra. My—my—love. F—f—fuck me. _Fuck_ _me_."

He flings himself upon her naked body, his hands half-crazed with conflicting impulses—to bury themselves in her, to plunge into her throbbing chest, to pull at his own garments. He tears at his uniform, his mouth sucking greedily at her breasts, his hands seemingly everywhere, smearing her own copious juices all over her body and his clothes. He buries his face in her again until she throbs and explodes against him. Then, shedding his garments fully, he raises his head to kiss her, sliding along her torso, and she feels him.

"Oh God. What—" She breaks their kiss.

His face is transformed now, as he gazes at her from above. Though his icy, pale cheeks have gained no colour, his eyes seem even more intensely luminescent than usual. The streaks on his cheeks seem darker. A sharp scent like frankincense comes off his body, and his black upper lip is fuller somehow. His teeth seem near, feral. His hair seems to bristle. And then _that_.

"I told you I wasn't made like a human." _Estoy hecho una espada. El se__ñ__or me arranc__ó__._

"But—so cold. And—hard—like bone."

"Only partially. I don't know why. It's like this." And he gestures to his mask. _No, not right. _"No horn."

She wants to look. _A monster. Most human._

"Are you afraid of me, woman?"

"No."

"Lie back." She complies, and he slips his hands down her body again, soon followed by his avid mouth. His lapping tongue soon has her grinding against him again, and she feels his hands at work. This time, he moves slowly, patiently, insistently, pausing every so often to lick at her opening and clit again as the sensitivity of her last orgasm leaves her.

"Tell me what you feel."

"I—fine."

"No—_what_ you feel."

"Your…fingers."

"How many?"

"I don't know—two… three. It feels like—like it's filling me up."

"It's my hand."

"No—that's—that's—impossible." A sob. Another.

"Woman, look at me."

"Yes." Her wet eyes meet his glowing ones.

"My reiatsu. It softens you. Attenuates you. Your cartilage. Your muscles. Come with me now."

"Yes." She closes her eyes.

"Follow me, woman."

"Yes." She can feel it now—his whole hand! _He could kill me now. He kills with that hand. That hand. He kills. _Tears begin to squeeze through her eyelashes again.

"Woman."

"Yes."

"You aren't afraid?"

"No."

"All right then. Look at me."

She meets his eyes and feels a new wave of slipperiness rush over her as his hand moves slowly inside her.

"Now what do you feel?"

_You. Your glowing eyes. Your pale, perfect face. A monster. An espada. Hard. Metal and stone. Glowing. Desert-born. Dry. Moon-ruled. Your sad, perfect face. Your hole. A Hollow. Like Sora. Not unworthy of love. Not unworthy_. _Torn_. _Sad_. _Sad_.

"I feel—I think it's—Another one—your fingers." Both of his hands are working at her now. His reiatsu spreads her like butter, like syrup. Softens her, diffuses her. _So heavy_. _Thick. Thick._

"Two. Lie back. Close your eyes. Melt."

_I will taste you. I will not break you. _

He can feel the thought-beast slouching around inside his head. Inside him a battle. The Hollow that shrieks to rend, to feast. And something else, newer. Not thought. Not sensation. To protect. To hold. _With. With_. The battle mediated by his exquisite control. _Estoy hecho una espada. _

"Now?"

"Another finger?"

"Don't be afraid. Both of my hands."

"That's—that's impossible!" She starts to cry again and turns her head to one side. "Oh—God!"

"Woman. Look at me."

She meets his eyes.

"My hands are powerful, as you well know, but they are not large. It was necessary. Remember. My reiatsu." He is astonished at his own patience.

He begins to move his entwined hands very slowly and gently in her body. She has never felt a sensation like it. _I wonder if this is what it's like to—have a baby or something. Something happens to your body then—so you can. _The thought is reassuring. But her own fingers, the random objects she's been tempted to play with in her lonely chastity—nothing has prepared her for her body's ability to dilate for him.

"You are… incredibly wet."

"Mmm…"

"Onna. You've done it. Opened your body to me." _Her will. These hands. Brave. Weak_. _Onna_.

"Ohhh…" His words, his voice arouse her; she closes his eyes as his hands begin to move slightly, very slightly faster. Her excitement rises again and her juices flow. He eases his hands out of her slowly, carefully, and she sighs in disappointment, raising her head. Tears flow from her eyes.

"Are you in pain?"

"No—no—I don't know—maybe pain—I—just-felt… so… full or something…. I don't know why I'm crying…"

"Lie back. Look at me. Don't look down." And he moves up and over her, pushing her legs farther apart with his own.

Dazed and weak, she can hardly endure the brightness of his gaze. Slowly, ever so slowly, she feels him pushing into her. _Estoy hecho una espada._

_I will not break you_.

He is studying her face. His eyes piercing as a cat's. "Woman."

"Ahhhhhhhhhh…."

"Now. Open."

_Tanta pl__á__tica=_ so much chatter

_Locura=_madness

_Estoy hecho una espada. El se__ñ__or me arranc__ó__.= _I am built like a sword. The lord tore me [a play on TK's usage of arrancar].


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine: Open

"Open."

Obediently, she loosens all of her limbs yet further and feels his entry complete itself, unsure exactly what she's feeling—hard, ridged, cold. Deep. Deep.

"So hot. Woman. You're so hot." _So wet. Slippery_.

But then. The unbidden in-shriek she cannot hear. _So hot. Slippery. Like blood._ _Arr__á__ncalo. El cuerpo. El alma. El coraz__ó__n_.

_No. Control. Too soon. Not yet. _

He has brushed aside all of the veils so gently, so patiently. Only to be met, now, at the sanctum—by the darker nature that only a blood-feast will placate. Soul-hunger. Her vulnerability. His desires still too bestial, too gluttonous. _No. Too dangerous. Fast. _

Slowly, regretfully, he withdraws from her body_. I will not break you. _

"Ul—qui—What's—wrong?" She moans in frustration, releases one broken sob.

"Nothing."

"It's all—right… I'm—not afraid." Her voice, still dazed and weak.

_But—I am. "Onna. _Hold still. Wait. Not yet. Give me your throat."

He pours the wild lust of his hips out through his mouth, his tongue, sucking, biting, and licking Orihime's breasts, face, and neck, her shoulders and arms, until she thrusts against him and moans again in hungry pleasure. Then, with the precision of a surgeon, he punctures her throat-skin with his teeth. Not the artery where the pulse twitches and entices, where her life resides. No. Just—a tiny sop that he throws to the blood-mad beast he must subdue. _First_.

At the feel of his teeth Orihime gives a sharp little gasp, but without complaint—indeed, with an accompanying sigh that he takes for permission. And even delight. Trust. He laves her small wound with his pointed tongue. Tastes her familiar blood. And feels again the wash of—what. _Not a thought. To protect. Weak. With her._

Her face, her body, are still flushed and pliable. Like this, the weight of his body on her, his reiatsu pressing her into the bed, she cannot move at all. _So thick. Thick._

He rises above her and looks. She is enraptured, intoxicated. _Weak. Soft. With. Oh—with. Ah. To protect. My mind. Prevail. Dominio. _His wildness passes from him. The beast chained and unshrieking. His kisses more gentle. _I will not break you. _Her trance eases and she wiggles her fingers and toes. But she feels hot, delirious, mad, like someone who's had too much sake. But not enough. _Why won't he. I want. I want. _

He lifts his head, raises himself on his elbows, and looks at her. His hole is so close to her lips. Pressure flows from it. She could kiss it by simply lifting her face. To the hole. _Desire. Or pity. Broken. Torn. Love. I don't know. _

He speaks. "Woman. It must be very different. With your nakama."

"Wha—What?"

"They must feel different. Your friends. In you. Their human bodies."

Even when he lifts himself above her like this, her breasts touch his chest. So big. Excessive. Expansive. Generous. Soft.

Her brow furrows. "Feel?" Sudden understanding. Her transport ceases; reality returns. "Oh God—no! I've never—"

"You don't do—this—with your friends?" His pupils dilate, his brow furrows.

"Of _course_ not! I mean—"

"And your—brother? Whose face was so beautiful to you?" He studies her keenly.

She wrinkles her nose. "_What_? Sora? Oh that's _gross_! No, of course not! _Ewww_! That's so—sick!"

"Don't get hysterical. You yourself told me this was for people who love each other."

"Well _yes_, but..."

"And you love your friends. And you loved your brother."

Her voice rises in exasperation. "Of _course_! It's just—different."

"Different. Why."

"You love your friends in a different way. And never—someone in your _family_. _Yuck_! How can you not _know_ that?" She can feel her arousal evaporate off her skin.

"I have learned the features of humanity relevant to my assignments. But I have no—have had no—intrinsic interest in human beings."

He flips off her and onto his back beside her, in the same motion swiftly pulling the bedclothes over his lower body. He regards her from the corner of his eye.

"Evidently you have—varieties of this—love."

"Exactly." And she smiles at him indulgently. Laughs. "_Now_ you get it. Silly."

He looks to the ceiling. "So many ways to be weak. Pathetic."

_No. You're wrong. It made me stronger. Makes Ichigo strong. Even poor Sora_. She examines his face in silence.

"So this—" he looks at her again and gestures to their bodies—"is for love, but only for one—manifestation."

"Yes—that's—true. And it's something—special. You don't just do it—you don't do it with just anyone."

"And yet here you are with me, whom you do not love."

_Whom you do not love_.

She closes her eyes. "I—I don't know—how to explain it to you." _Traitor._

"Of course not. Because it's illogical. You contradict yourself."

Her eyes open, find his. "I'm just following—my heart, I guess. Not thinking logically." She laughs. "This whole situation isn't—really—logical."

He raises himself to a seated position and looks at her closely. "Your heart. It speaks to you?" He raises an eyebrow. Mocking.

"Not like _talking_. I'm not saying that. I'm saying… you just… I just somehow… I feel like I know you. And it's like—I'm older now. I'm different. Old. Sad. Stronger maybe. But sad. Here. And here—you're like—my only friend. Or—or more. Everything's different. My heart too. It's so hard to know—to explain."

He has not moved. He regards her intently. Raptor-eyed. His gaze flows over her. _Ravishment_. Her body kindles. Her heart quickens.

"Your heart—it tells you all this."

She closes her eyes, sighs. "Listen—I want to tell you something Rukia told me. I never told anyone else."

"Rukia Kuchiki. The shinigami."

She opens her eyes and looks into his. _His eyes._ _Turquoise, malachite, peridot, jade. All the hardness of the world. Austere. Polar. Impossible brightness and glare. I am blinded._ _Traitor_. _Oh, my friends. Forgive me. But now—I'm here._

"That's right. Once—when I was sad—she told me something someone told her. Someone she loved. That a heart isn't just here." She reaches up and touches his chest. "It's between people. It's sort of—like—created between people. When you love others, or even just when you think about them."

"That's among the most ridiculous things I've ever heard. And patently, demonstrably untrue. I could prove it to you this moment if I weren't enjoying our conversation."

She wrinkles her nose at his idle threat. "Well, she said it much better! It made perfect sense when she said it. When I was sad." She takes his frigid hand in hers, clasps it, and opens it again. "Here." She taps his palm with a finger. "Between."

He pulls his hand away. "I have no idea what you are talking about. And you know well, I think, that I have no heart. Foolish _onna_." He leans down and kisses her lips, his cool tongue sliding along her gums and back out over her teeth.

"I think you do. You _do_. Just the way you said 'foolish _onna'_ just now. Maybe not like this"—she strikes her own chest with a balled little fist. "But the kind Rukia means. You do. You could."

_Do. Could_.

"And she said something else too. That he told her. That when someone dies, that person's heart stays with—the others. Who loved him."

_The story. Its end_.

"Ridiculous." It irks him. Irrationally. Her generous spirit. Her warmth. Indefatigable. Even here, in the darkness of Las Noches, the bright brittle human delusions. He looks away. "You humans with your hearts and your words. You roll them around in your mouths, over and over, like you want to feel and taste your pain again and again. And so you suffer. And then you must lie to yourselves to—" He looks back at her and stops. Her wrenched face. _No. Nothing stays. Alone. At the end. Empty. But let her. _

_To protect._

He kisses her again, swinging his body half over hers to feel her warmth but keeping the bedclothes between their hips. "Oh Woman. You—your words…" But her voice echoes in his head even as he tastes her with mounting ardor.

_Maybe now. Start again_.

But she breaks away from his mouth. Her eyes, so red again. And bright, tear-shiny. Ambered. Her little mouth, downturned and tight. She speaks.

"You asked me why. Now you. Why—What—does this mean—to you?"

"This? Mean?" His eyes widen. "Nothing. It means nothing. What could it possibly mean?"

"Then why? Why are we—doing this?" She raises her hands to her face. Sobs. "Oh—I'm such an idiot… ignore me. Of course—I know." _Whore. I am. Traitor. Bad. My thoughts. _

_Of course. It means nothing. Why would it. To him. _

He looks at her gravely from under his brows. "I don't know. I have never—engaged in this before. Unlike most of my fellows."

She lowers her hands, looks up. "No one's ever—?" Tears coursing steadily down her cheeks. _Infinite river_.

"I have been sought. I have neither sought nor permitted it. I prefer solitude. Clarity." _Never, never this proximity to another. Even the thought of a fracci__ó__n repellent. This familiarity. Only battle. And feeding. Alone. Always. _

"So—why—now?"

"I want to. I don't know why. I am not accustomed to the tiresome self-scrutiny in which you humans specialize." _Mentira. Now yes. Because of you. Woman._

Her voice small. "But you don't like me. Love me."

"Words." His eyes narrow, smolder with impatience. "I am quite certain I have never said them. 'Like' and 'love' are not in my vocabulary, in either a positive or a negative sense. I confine myself to more rational judgments."

"And—this—is rational?"

Impasse. They look at each other without moving, without speaking. At the end of language.

_Meaning. Why. Desear. Deseo. I don't know. That I should be confused. _

He sees her face below him. Lovely, rosy, warm. Alive. Her clear topaz eyes. Her tears. He feels her, smells her. Her scents are all around him. And there it is—the frenzy-scent. _Ah_.

She lifts her head and presses it to his chest. He feels her warm wet cheeks, her lips swiftly touching the edge of his hole before moving across his chest.

She kisses the chill numbered hierro. "I felt it. Ulquiorra."

"What?"

"When I kissed you there. Just now. Your—hole. Something. A feeling—like a magnet. Even though I can feel your reiatsu flow _out_. It's like—it pulls me _in_." _Science class. Unlike charges attract. I can't push against it. _

She presses her lips to his hole-rim again. He gasps. She looks up to see his black lips parted, his savage dainty teeth revealed. A flood of images bursts through into his consciousness. A human face. Faces. No. No. _Basura_. No. _Dulce_. _Tan dulce_. _Oh. No. Clean me. No. Oh. Me duele el co—. Ah._ _Don't stop_. Her tongue explores all around the edge, then slips inside. A faint smell, like sulfur. Sharp. His eyelids tremble, close. A single tear rolls from one eye. _Ahhh_. _Don't stop_. _Don't. Stop._

"Woman. Stop."

She raises her head from his chest. "Why? Does that hurt? Oh my God—are you—?"

"No. I can't explain. But it's intolerable." _So sweet. Hurts_.

"Gomen—gomen nasai. I'm—so sorry."

"It doesn't matter. Kiss me. Kiss my mouth."

She does. The smell of him. Sharp. Clean. Her tongue flicks over his pointed teeth and explores the coolness of his dark mouth. His tongue meets hers, hard and insistent, so different from the tongues of the boys she's kissed, who almost choked her with their ardor and their saliva. _I never kissed Kurosaki-kun. _A twinge of pain, not just for that but for everything lost.

_But here, now. I'm here_. The espada's inherent reserve, his aristocratic slenderness, expressed in a tongue-touch as delicate and maddening as a gloved caress. _Your mouth matches mine, your boreal tongue. Draw me in. Magnetic repulsion. Unlike charges, so like. Ek-stasis_. She feels herself slipping beneath the weight of his reiatsu and the glorious touch of his mouth. _You can. You can. Pierce me. It's all right. I know. Sorrow. I know. You can. I know. Here._ Her breasts press against his chest once more, and her arms embrace him. _You can. I know. You don't need to. So broken. I know. Take me_. _Let me warm you_. _I know. I know_. He feels her flesh pressing at his hole. He buries his hands in her hair and gives himself over to her kiss, at the same time feeling the mounting pressure in his lower body. No shrieking. No ravening. _Yes_.

_Time. Now. Again. Try._

He moves a hand down her side and over her hip to the well between her legs. A chill finger slides into the crevice, prowls, and dips into her hot cunt. She moans.

"No… no." She breaks away from his mouth.

"No?" _She can't. What? I want. Time. Now._ "Are you afraid? Now?" He looks into her eyes, holds them. _Or perhaps the other thing—the meaning?_

She meets his pellucid gaze. "I'm not—afraid. But first—I want to see you."

_Arr__á__ncalo. El cuerpo. El alma. El coraz__ó__n_.=Tear/remove it. The body. The soul. The heart.

_Dominio= _[Self, in this case] control.

_Desear. Deseo= _To want. I want.

_Basura_. No. _Dulce_. _Tan dulce_ _... Me duele el co—.= _Garbage. No. Sweet. So sweet... It hurts my h-."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten: Be/hold Him

"You want—to see me." He pulls his head back, cocks it to one side.

"Y—yes."

"What have you been doing all this time if not seeing me?"

"Oh come on. You know what I mean. I—I want to see—all of you."

He is silent. His eyes are fixed on her, but he looks far away. Lost. The covers still between their hips.

"No. I won't permit it."

"Why not?"

"I have no need to explain myself." He flips onto his back again, wrenching the bedclothes over him, pulling them almost up to his neck so that his hole and number are covered. He stares at the ceiling.

She sits up, turns to him, and laughs. "You look so—funny! Like a—pouting little boy afraid of the dark."

A hand shoots out at lightning speed, seizes her jaw, pushes her head back. Not even lifting his head, he regards her coldly from under his eyelids, his gaze suddenly dead, reptilian.

"Woman. I have—against my better judgment—made myself familiar to you. I bear the responsibility for that. But I will not permit you to forget what I am. And I will not tolerate your mockery."

She looks back, unblinking. _So cold. His arctic eyes. They change. Thaw and freeze again. In the time it takes to draw a breath. _"I wasn't mocking you. It's just—play. Joking. Human play."

He releases her chin, drops his hand, sighs. "Fine. But remember."

"I'm sorry I offended you."

"It doesn't matter."

He looks at the ceiling again. Brooding. _Entangled. Why did I_. _Twisted. No clarity any more._ He thinks back to his resolution as he passed through the garganta. _I will not go to her. _But he did. _Why. And now. Such effort and control. Such patience. For what._ _Demencia_. _Absurdo._ He should rise, go to his own chambers.

_Vac__í__os._ _So empty. My rooms._ The shock of the thought-words widens his eyes. _My wanting. Deseo. With. Not alone. Her. Like a spell. My mind. _

And his insistent desire, left untended but surprisingly undiminished, unvanquished by the depressing turn the conversation has taken. The bedclothes heaped over the evidence fail to conceal it completely.

Her voice breaks through his thoughts. "What are you thinking?" She is still seated beside him, watching him. Her nakedness apparently untroubling to her, now.

"Nothing. That I should go."

"_What_? Go?"

He squeezes his eyes shut. "Yes. I'm neglecting my duties." _But I still. I want._

"Ah." She sighs. A long pause. Then she smiles. "Before you do, would you—help me?

"Help you." His eyes still closed.

"It's so embarrassing."

"Ah."

"It's just that… I won't be able to… and you said I shouldn't…"

"What are you talking about?" He opens his eyes and turns his head to her in irritation. "I need to dress." Her chattering voice suffocates him. _Next, no doubt, she'll begin to sob and wail again._

Taking a deep breath, feeling her face flushing, she spreads her legs in front of him and touches herself with one hand, cupping a breast in the other. "I'm not… finished. I'm still so… It wouldn't take long for you to…"

His eyes narrow as he assesses her, takes her meaning. _So transparent_. "Do you think I don't understand what you're attempting?" _But—ah. I still. I want._ To think of leaving and then her—the mirror?—without him. The pressure in his hips. The mad-scent again.

"I don't _care_ if you do! It's easy for you. You just come and go as you please. And I'm stuck here waiting for everyone to decide what to do with me." The inevitable tears starting in her eyes.

His cool gaze in return. "Yes. And now _I'm_ deciding what to do with you. You decide nothing." _But. Oh_. _The smell of your body. Your pale weak softness, radiating warmth beside me. Oh._ _That wet centre. Your throbbing pulse. I feel it. I feel it._

"Oh." She leans back against her pillow. Reclining like this, she is even more exposed to him, her breasts softly rounding against her chest, the gentle curve of her belly, her parted thighs and raised knees. He rises to an elbow, regards her. Closes his eyes to listen to the mounting hum in his head. Opens them again to look directly at her cunt.

She looks at him, her lips parted, caressing her body. "So—what are you going to do with me?"

_Demonios_. This woman. His head, his head. The hot sensation. _Swimming, muddy_. And her body. _Let her. Meaning? Want_. He opens his eyes and sits up, and the bedsheets fall away from his torso, revealing his hole and gothic numeral.

"I've decided." He looks at her again.

"Mmmmm." She is lazily tracing the contours of her cunt with a finger. Her fingertip glistens with her returning wetness. For him, he knows. Her little game. Her weak little snare. _But that's not why_. _Because I want. With her. See it through. _

"I'm going to permit you to look at me."

Her eyes widen. "Really? But you said—"

"And then—no matter what—I'm going to…"

And he pulls the bedclothes away from his hips.

In eighth grade she and Tatsuki did a science project. Taxonomy. Mammalia. Distinguishing traits: air-breathing vertebrates. Hair.

And then the presentation. Standing at the front of the class with Tatsuki, Keigo raising his hand and asking her if she could write _mammae_ on the board so he could spell it properly. She did it and only got it when the class erupted in laughter. Because she'd forgotten for a moment about her brand-new breasts. That they were a dirty joke. Mortification.

_But_ _Kurosaki-kun didn't laugh_. And later nearly broke Keigo's nose.

When they were researching on line at Orihime's, they searched _mammalia_. Then _mammalian reproduction_. And on from there. The horror of nature's exuberance. The forked penis of the kangaroo. The gargantuan cock of the whale. Barnacles with organs bigger than their bodies. The _os penis_—a bone, down there—a feature of most mammals. Who knew?

The corkscrewed member of the pig. Even the dolphin. _Kawaii_! But with a massive prehensile schlong. _Yuck_! The penis fish of Korea! The biggest penis in the world!

_Gross_! _Ewwww. We laughed and laughed_. _Till we almost peed our pants_. Squealed at each new discovery. _Lying on the floor on our backs laughing our guts out, kicking our feet_. _And then she—touched my breast—leaned over and kissed me hard and fast on the mouth. _

_And then we forgot about it, or pretended it never happened. My friend. Tatsuki. I miss you. I'm sorry. _

And something else that night. Tatsuki told her something she'd read, about the witches in Europe. How the Devil was supposed to have a monstrous penis, huge and cold. It made the women crazy, made them sign a pact with him, give him their souls. _And all of those demons in our own stories, raping human women_. Their size. The women loving it. The women. Traitors to their kind, slaves to their desires.

_Like me._ _When she told me that. I thought about it. A pretty demon, like in a manga. And later on, when she was gone, with my hands…_ _And now, here._

_But I'm here now. I'm sorry, Tatsuki. My life was… but I'm here. In an empty, cold place. Nothing nice, warm, good. And I have to—reach for something. Real. Or—beautiful. Even—a monster. _

"Woman."

"Oh—sorry. I was just thinking. I—drifted off for a moment."

"You choose odd times for your reveries."

Without looking down, she reaches for the bedding and pulls it up over his hips again.

He hisses in exasperation. "Now what are you doing, woman? Satisfy your curiosity and be done with it. My patience is at an end."

Instead of replying, she moves over and swings onto him, her breasts falling onto his bare chest. She looks into his eyes.

"Not like that. Just to—peek. That's not what I meant. I want to look slowly. Like you looked at me."

"That was different."

"Why?"

_Because I won't be made a vessel to contain the will of another. The desire of another. Do you not understand what I am. Estoy hecho una espada. _

He doesn't answer, but lies still, his arms at his sides. She kisses his forehead, his temples. Her breasts sway against his chest, his chin. She feels the pull of his hole against her skin. _Draw me in. Draw me in. _He closes his eyes. _I know. _She licks his face as he licked hers, tonguing around his chastely sealed eyelids, licking and kissing his cheeks.

The streaks coming down from his eyes are even colder than the rest of his face, cold and metallic to the taste. Like iron. _Pierce me. _Up close they are so iridescent, insect-like, glowing. Lovely. He is silent, immobile as a statue. And then he opens his eyes. So close to hers. She gasps and presses her lips onto his. She attempts to hold his gaze, but it's impossible. Her body lurches with the effort and her eyes close. She sucks and licks at his impossibly exquisite mouth, while his tongue flutters like a moth through her lips and over her teeth. _He too. He wants. It's all right. I know. You can. _

He closes his eyes and moans, lightly, and she feels _that_, the vastness and hardness of him, against her groin. _I know. I know. I'm not afraid. I want to look at you. _He lifts his arms, buries his hands in her hair again, tugs at it. Seizes her tongue between his teeth and nips it so it bleeds. She hardly flinches as he bites her, as he savors her blood-taste, her warmth. _You can. You can. _She stiffens her tongue and stabs it into his mouth, sliding it in and out between his lips, spreading her blood on him. For a wild moment she feels fierce, bold, mad. _I want to fuck _you, _Ulquiorra_. _With my tongue. Something. _But his reiatsu flares, spreads, weakens her. His chest pulls on hers. She begins to dizzy, to falter. She pulls back from his mouth, rises, and sits astride him. His eyes fly open.

"You stopped." He looks up at her. _Never before, under another like this. A peculiar feeling_. _Ay de los vencidos. No. Not bested. No, because I permit it. Why. This woman. _From this angle the weight and size of her breasts is particularly notable. He studies them, reaches up, cups them in his hands, feeling their warm heft. She cringes almost imperceptibly.

"You're looking at—at _them_."

"Of course. Doesn't everyone? You can hardly expect me to ignore them in this situation."

"You didn't before. Ogle me. Ogle them. Not like Grimmjow. Nnoitora. They're so—big. So silly. A joke."

"_You're _silly, woman." _That other time. Her words. How do I look—to you? In your words. _"Do you—want to know what I think?"

"I don't know."

_See it through. Nothing stays. Rid__í__culo. But with. For her. Words. _"In Hueco Mundo nothing is superfluous. Everything is just—as needed. Nothing more." His hands still cupping her warm flesh.

"In the world of the living—in your world—it's different. Waste. Abundance. Trees shooting out millions of leaves only to drop them again. Plants creeping over the earth, relentless. Insects, innumerable, crawling through the soil and winging through the air. The teeming little creatures of the forest, coursing, breeding, food for the bloody mouths of the others. The billions of _you_, darting everywhere, spewing words and actions without thought or rhyme. Your emotions, your chatter: excessive, uncontrollable. The heaving oceans, the cycle of water, rivers, rain. Abundance. Effulgence. Lushness. And roundness. Softness. Warmth. Blood. Pulse. Heave. When I look at your breasts, feel them in my hands, it's like—all of that. In my eyes. In my hands."

Her face crestfallen. "But you hate humans—the world of the living. You said so."

"I don't recall saying that. I think what I said was that humans sicken me."

A pause. Silence. She still looks doubtful.

"_Onna_. Here—" he squeezes her breasts lightly, then releases them. "Here—" he touches her neck. "Here"—he trails a finger down her chest, her belly. "Here." He thrusts his hand between her legs, then withdraws it again. "Here." And he presses his hand against the side of her face. "Insofar as anything does—you—please me." _Yes. You. Woman. So weak. But powerful. And brave. It—yes. You please me. _

His scant words, his gestures, like a benediction. She lowers herself to kiss his mouth again, then pulls herself away to kiss his throat. He closes his eyes, sighs. So slender. _Nothing is superfluous. _His collarbones. The hard musculature under his hierro. And the hole. She cautiously skirts it, keeping her kisses well away from its edge, but feels its pull. A cool breeze, a beckoning, like a mineshaft, a well, deep, dark. She licks at his number. Four. Four.

"You can."

"What?" She lifts her head from his chest, supporting herself on her hands. Examines his face. His closed eyes.

"What you did before. When I made you stop." His eyes snap open and transfix her. "Kiss it. The—hole."

_Draw me in. _She drops her head to it, smelling the faint sulfur odor she remembers from before. _You can_. Cautiously, she kisses its edge. His body moves almost imperceptibly, but he makes no sound. More boldly, she begins to taste him. She licks around the edges, then lets her pink tongue stray into the blackness beyond the rim. The pull makes her dizzy, and a corresponding reiatsu spike whumps her chest so hard she loses her breath for a panicked moment. But he remains immobile, his eyes still closed. _I know. I know. Let me. So broken. Warm you. I know. _She tongues him gently, then faster, feeling the icy smoothness. _Damaged. So lovely. Dark. Dark_.

"Now. Stop." He has opened his eyes.

"Oh—is it hurting again?" She sits up and astride him again, her head reeling like a drunk's from his heavy reiatsu.

"No. It's fine. I—learned something. But stop now."

She obeys, sliding down his hips to straddle his knees, then leaning forward to kiss his lower chest, hard, smooth. _Adamantine. Quartz. Desert-born_. She licks at his torso, moving lower, looking at him: slim, yet muscled and with remarkable latent tensile power. _Like a cat… or something_. _So beautiful. Something. To reach for. Tatsuki. I'm sorry. I'm here now. Let me. _

His belly. Smooth, cool, hard as the rest of him. Her hungry tongue, learning him. _I know. Let me. _His body stiffens as she slides further down his legs and tugs at the coverlet concealing his hips.

"What's wrong?"

He opens his gleaming eyes to meet hers. "Nothing. Just do it. Look then. But remember what I said. No matter what."

She pulls back the covers, her eyes fixes on his, and drops her eyes to his hips. She gasps, involuntarily, and he rolls his eyes.

"That was—we did—I can't believe it."

"That's why I told you not to look down. So now. Satisfied? Revolted?"

"No." And she laughs. "It's like—it reminds me of ice cream!"

"_What_?"

"You're not going to believe this, but the first thing that came into my mind was dolphins. And ice cream! Well, first you have to know that I love ice cream! And my favorite ice cream shop is this Italian place that has a kind of replica of a fountain, I think it's in Rome. And the dolphins kind of have this sculpty platey thing. I don't know how…" her voice trails off.

"Woman." His eyes closed again.

"S-sorry. I always seem to say stupid things."

"It doesn't matter."

She examines him more carefully. It's not like she has a lot to compare him to. It seems mainly—normal. But then that bony, sculpted plate. Attached. Fused. Fluted like his mask. Incredible. Pretty, actually, in a weird way. And—not possible—in her body. And the size. Surely _this _is superfluous.

She drops her head, plants a tentative kiss on the tip. Taking it into her mouth, unfortunately, seems out of the question. He sits bolt upright.

"What are you doing?"

"What you did to me."

"Don't."

"Why not?" She drops her head again and licks the underside of his cock from the base to the tip, where the bony plates from the upper part terminate. Here there is hierro, not bone, so surely he feels _something_. It takes a while, but eventually he moans.

"The warmth."

"Hm?"

"The warmth of your mouth. Moving on me." _Oh_.

There's a tiny slit at the top, and she slides her tongue-tip into it. He moans again. _He feels it—there too. _Again. , she quickens her movements, raising her gaze to his face from time to time to stealthily check his reaction. His eyes are closed, his brows furrowed, his lips slightly parted, his tongue visible. His frankincense odor intensifies.

Suddenly he sits up, seizes her, and in one brisk gesture flips her onto her back. Presses her arms into the bed. And throws himself upon her.

"What's wrong—Ulq—"

"Nothing. But it's what I said."

"What? Ulquiorra—"

"I let you look. But my patience is at an end. And now—" He bends to her throat.

"What?"

His teeth press into her neck. His voice low but clear. "No matter what. I'm going to fuck you."

_Demencia_. _Absurdo.= _Insanity. Absurd.

_Vac__í__os= _empty


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven: Utopia

"Ulquiorra—oh—I—don't—." His teeth nipping her throat.

He snorts and rises to look her in the eyes. "Why so coy? It's what you want, isn't it? What you wanted. When you asked me not to leave. When you tried to manipulate me. Woman."

He touches her eyes with his fluted tongue, probes their familiar saltiness, their curve, feels her thick eyelashes. "Displaying yourself to me."

He kisses her cheeks, mouthing her cheekbones, dragging his cool tongue-tip over one, then the other. "Touching yourself for me."

He kisses her lips, pushing them apart with his hard slim tongue, flicking it back and forth across hers, over her teeth. She moans, squirms against him. "Taking your breasts in your hands for me."

She can feel his reiatsu again, ebbing and flowing from the hole. Heavy. He lifts his mouth from hers and looks into her eyes again. "Spreading your legs so I can smell you… even more."

He kisses her once more, stabbing his tongue into her mouth as she'd done to him, nipping at the inside of her lower lip, then pulling back. "Opening yourself with your fingers so I can see your wetness."

"Ohhhh…." Her eyes close as he moves his lips onto her throat.

"So obvious." He licks each pulsing carotid artery, following the throb from ear to clavicle. _Ah_.

"It pleases you. My mouth on you. Even this—" and he swiftly sinks his teeth into her skin.

She gasps. "Ahhhhh…."

"Say it."

"Ohhhhhhh…. Yes. Yes… I—l—like it." His lips lightly daubed in her blood again, his kiss all over her throat.

"Say it. What do you like?" His lips move onto her chest.

"I like… your mouth. On—on me."

"Where? Say it." His black mouth plays just above where she wants it, tacking between her collarbone and the uppermost swell of her breasts.

"Ohhh… kiss them."

"Your directions lack clarity, woman. Kiss what?" His voice wry, mocking, his lips still roving, evasive.

"Kiss… mmmm."

"With such imprecise directions I can scarcely assist you. Say it."

"Kiss… my breasts."

"Ah. I see. Certainly." And he plunges his dusky mouth directly onto one nipple, then the other, pulling back each time to drag his teeth over the nipple and off. His cool tongue brings each to attention. "Is that sufficient?"

"Noooo…. More… more…" She arches her back toward his mouth, pressing her chest against him, her hips into the bedclothes, writhing.

"Fine." He begins to kiss and lick her breasts themselves, tonguing them in concentric circles, pausing to suck her flesh into his mouth, nipping at her, swirling his tongue repeatedly toward the nipples and then taking each into his mouth for a maddening instant, then releasing. Then he presses his lower jaw against her breast and sucks her nipple, harder than he's done. Harder than anything she's felt there. She is about to gasp, pull away, when she feels a new sensation swelling over the shock of his mouth's power. _It's like… it's connected to down there. _An electrical charge runs from her nipple down to her hip, and beyond to her cunt. _How is that possible. What has he done. _She feels her vulva swelling, twitching. He lifts his mouth, unclear on the processes in play, but savoring her body's shudder.

"An interesting physiological response. So. Are you content?"

"Ohhhh!" She wails in frustration. "Ohhh… don't stop."

"How shall I proceed?"

Her desire is grown-up enough. Mated with her inborn stubbornness, it is match for his teasing. His control.

"Kiss me there."

"I'm not sure where you mean. Remember that I require specific instructions in these matters. I despise missteps. And imprecision." His face utterly serious.

"Ohhhh…. You—jerk!" A flare of irritation. "You—you know what I mean."

"Perhaps so." He licks her belly, tracing two lines down her torso from each nipple, tonguing her navel. "But you please me most like this."

"Like—mmm….." Her eyelids flutter. "Like—what?"

"Fierce. Sure. Brave. No idiotic human girl-act." He nips the skin around her belly button.

"Ohhh… what_ever_." She pushes her hands through his hair, touches his mask-remnant gingerly, for the first time, notes the similarity in hand-feel to his armoured groin. "Just _do_ it."

"Do what?" Still licking at her belly, but lower, nearly to the mound.

She seizes the horn in her right fist, pushes on it. Her right is strong, fast with a strike, but she can't move his head a millimeter even with her full strength. Not unless he allows it.

"You're so—mean. You know what I want! Kiss me there… Kiss—my cunt."

"And by _cunt_ you mean—this?" he trails a finger through her wet slit, raises it slowly to his mouth, slides it in, sucks it, his eyes on hers.

"Ohhhh… God…. You're so…."

Then he tires of the game. Faster than she can see, he shrugs himself into position, pushes her thighs back against her belly, and attacks her with his mouth, his hands imprisoning her ankles. She yelps as the icy coolness finds her, as he impatiently pushes her labia apart with his graceful nose, plunging his tongue between them, turning his head lightly from side to side so his nose tugs at her lips, flutter-tonguing her opening.

"Ahhhhhhhh!" All pretence, all coyness, fade. She reaches down between her splayed thighs to spread herself wider for him. He releases her ankles, cups her buttocks, and lifts her hips toward his greedy mouth, pressing her against him and driving his cool tongue deep into her, circling it round and round. "Ohhhhhhhh!"

Then, suddenly, he releases her buttocks and stops.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhh! Don't—don't! Ulquiorraaaa! No—God!"

"I want to see something. Where's the mirror?"

"_What_? What are you—a _gynecologist_ or something? Are you _crazy_?" Her lips, her chest, her cheeks, her breasts—all are flushed with her mounting, and increasingly frustrated desires.

"I want to see my mouth. On you. The black… with the pink. It just—occurred to me. I can't see it with my eye." _An image to keep. _

"Why? God! And why right now?"

"Curious. Just give it to me." She turns her body, fumbles beside the bed for the mirror, passes it to him, then lies back with a sigh, her eyes closed.

"This is just the weirdest thing. It's like you're trying to—drive me crazy. Or _kill_ me or something."

"Kill you?" He looks at her quizzically, taking in her closed eyes, her rosiness. His own desire considerably rougher, more dynamic, than his composure betrays. "Nothing so dramatic."

"I'm just… so…" Her hands rise, cup her breasts.

"It won't take long."

She doesn't open her eyes, and so doesn't see him as he lifts the mirror in front of him, slightly to one side, his face grave, and lowers his mouth to her cunt again. With his other hand, he parts her lips and introduces his tongue, then slides it out. All the while, regarding his mouth in the mirror.

"The colours. Yes." _An image to keep._

Her eyes are still closed. "Mmm."

He lifts his mouth from her wetness, raises the mirror slightly, regards his face, then raises the mirror and slowly contemplates his own slitted viridian eye_. I._

"Here. Put it away now." She opens her eyes, takes the mirror, tosses it beside the bed. Tries to close her legs before, seeing her, he stops her knees.

"Now what, woman?" Still holding her knees, he swipes his tongue across her again, quickly, lightly.

"Mmmm…. It's just… because you stopped. And now that I've seen you I—"

He raises his head and looks at her. "Now that you've seen me. Remember? What I said. No matter what. So now you're frightened. Don't be foolish. You know yourself it's possible. Empirically tested, in fact."

"I'm not—frightened. I just want to ask you something, before."

He sighs. "What?" He slides a finger into her, idly contemplating it as he flicks it back and forth between her lips.

"You said before 'you've only seen me like this'. What do you _really_ look like?"

He looks up. "As you see. Have seen." He presses his black-nailed thumb into her opening, pushes it deep, watching her eyes.

"Mmm…. But you have another form. You said so."

"I have other—another form. My release. But this is no less real." He pulls his thumb out and slips two fingers into the opening, moving them slowly from side to side, gauging her wetness. Pressing against her walls.

"OK, so in your other form… What—does it look like? Like a Hollow?"

His fingers cease their movement. He looks at her, his brow furrowed. "How disgusting, woman. Don't insult me. Are you mad?"

"I'm sorry. I just want to know."

"Why?" He looks back at her cunt, resumes his slow finger-work. He eases his wet fingers out of her opening and runs them around it instead, then slips them upward to feel her hardening clit.

"Ahhhh…. Just—to know. I'm—I'm curious."

"So you want it. In words." He sighs. His hand stops. "My description would serve only as another one of your tiresome human stories. Words have no reality. It's something that must be seen."

"Then—would you show it to me?"

He closes his eyes. His hand begins to move again, slowly. A finger slides into her slitted opening, curves upward, and strokes her inside, as tantalizing and soft as a sable paintbrush. "Show you? You have no idea. And besides, it's forbidden."

"Ohh… Forbidden… by whom?"

He looks at her. "By Aizen-sama. Not to all of us. But to me, yes. Within Las Noches."

"Oh, that feels… so…" She swallows. "You could take me outside maybe. Out farther. Far out into Hueco Mundo. And show me."

He looks at her in shock. His hand immobilized. _Take her out into Hueco Mundo. _"You really are a remarkable woman, Orihime Inoue. And completely, utterly foolish. My release is not a game. Or a trick to be performed for your entertainment. And it would mean your destruction."

"Why?"

He looks down. "If you saw me in my other—form. Well. You couldn't endure it. My reiatsu. Like this it's nothing. Like _that_ it would overpower you. Drown you. Crush you. You couldn't even breathe."

"How do you know?"

"Don't be absurd. You couldn't take it. And—you wouldn't like it anyway."

"Why not? What does it look like then? Tell me if you can't show me." She pushes against his hand.

He closes his eyes again, blinks in annoyance. "Your questions are tiresome. I haven't exactly seen myself in one of your—mirrors. But to me, it feels like… it would look like… void. Black, heavy, dark." _Desesperaci__ó__n__._

_Yes. I knew_. "I would still—if I could—I would look. Your description—it doesn't give me much of a sense of it."

"I believe that you _would_ look, woman. You have not yet failed to surprise me. Well, be content that you will never see it."

"It must be horrible if you won't tell me more."

"It is." He fixes his eyes on her. "In that form… you would fear me. And loathe me. And then—die."

"I don't believe it." She meets his gaze.

"Believe it." He sighs. "And now my patience is truly exhausted. Woman—an end to words. Or shall I gag you?"

He leans onto her chest and she feels herself pounded by a huge reiatsu surge. She gasps, loses her breath for a moment.

"You—you did that on purpose."

"I told you I was impatient with words. At least those ones. Silence, now." And he presses his mouth to hers, again. She tastes herself on his mouth, smells his sharp frankincense odor. He rises from her mouth almost instantly, though, and slides down her body again, again plunging his face between her legs, running his cool tongue around and through her nether lips again and again, circling her opening and stabbing it with his tongue, then circling, stabbing, reaching into her impossibly far. Once more her head swims as his reiatsu flows over her, stronger this time, even heavier than before.

"Ohhhhhh… You're doing it…. On purpose…. Your reiatsu."

He sighs. "And yet you want to see my release. Anyway, I don't want to wait. I want you to soften now. Fast." And he tongues her more vigorously now, moving to her most sensitive spot, roughly pulling back the little hood of her clit, flicking his tongue over it as she bucks against him, then pursing his narrow lips to suck on it. Her hands rise feebly from her sides, grope for his head. A hand grasps his horn, strokes the flanges of the broken mask. "Ahhhhhh…. Ohhhhh… Ohhhhh…Ohhh—Ohh-" Her hips buck and rock faster, and he slides a finger, then two, then three, into her slippery, dilated opening. It feels swollen, soft. As he continues to tongue and suck her clit, he easily pushes the remaining fingers into her, cautiously eying her face while he does so. Her eyes fly open, instantly gush.

He lifts his head, holding his hand completely still. "Does it hurt?"

"No… It's the strangest thing…. It just makes me cry…"

"All right." The hand resumes its slow motions. He returns his lips to her clit, releases the hood from his remaining hand, and continues to lick her gently, slowly, pushing at the hood with his nose and moving his second hand down to join the first.

"Not—not again… Oh God." More tears.

"Don't be ridiculous. You can. Just like last time." And he gently but insistently pushes more fingers into her to join the first hand.

"You know how now. Melt."

"Yes." And in truth, it isn't difficult. His reiatsu is pressing on her so hard she feels like someone sinking through water, deeper, deeper. _Drown you_. His hands seem far away from her now; her heavy eyes close. When he pulls his mouth away from her clit, his hands from her, she hears a dim protest, her own voice. Opens her eyes to see him looking down from above her. He is kneeling between her legs. Her eyes flick over the pale marble form before her. His hole. His number. His broken mask. His body. Quicksilver. And between his legs, that architecture… expansive, but not repulsive. Bone-plated, fluted, carved. Not unworthy.

"Ah. So. Are you afraid?"

"No… I'm not afraid,…" she smiles at him, her lids sleepy, her body arrayed before him in complete laxity, softness, yieldingness.

"So… how should I proceed?"

She knows the game. Will play. "Fuck me. Ulquiorra."

"Well. You're ready. Quite quickly considering last time. But I wonder whether you're truly ready." He flicks his fingers through her labia. "Judging from the bedclothes, you're wet enough." He licks his fingers.

"Stop it now. Ulquiorra. _Fuck me_!"

He doesn't answer. Instead, he pulls her legs up and out, spreads her lips with his fingers, and pushes himself into her, his eyes fixed on her face. She wants to cry out, but bites her tongue as tears start in her eyes. _I did it before. Not pain, just—fullness somehow. And chill. Like his hands. So much. _She feels the hard, smooth bone glide through her wetness. No pain. Just fullness. She lifts her trembling arms and embraces him.

This time there is no insanity, no blood-madness. His control absolute, though tested by the long teasing games and her questions. He pushes into her until he feels her flesh pressing back on him, a firm fleshy piece of her that signals the end of possibility. _No farther. I will not break you. _Her wetness pushes out around him, begins to warm him. And _that. _He can feel it everywhere. Inside her cunt, in her throat, in her heaving chest, in her fingertips on his back. Her heartbeat. His eyes widen as he realizes he can feel it in his groin. In his fingertips. _En mi pecho_.

Slowly, tentatively, he moves his hips. She sighs.

"Does it hurt you?"

"Noooo…. Ohhhhhh…" He reaches down with a finger and rubs at the tiny bit of flesh above their joining. She pushes her hips against him. Suddenly his sculpted ridges slip over a spot inside her and she gasps…"Ahhhhhh!"

He stops. "What is it?" A new gush of moisture washes over him. Has he broken her? He looks down, expecting blood. But no. _River_.

"Don't—stop—don't. There… That spot… Oh—fuck me! _Fuck me_!"

_For people_. And yet he can, it seems, please her.

He moves more quickly, more surely now. Until now his pleasure has been largely in his lips, his nose, his hands. But once again something flickers at the base of his neck, flashing down into his hips, through his cock, through his legs. The hierro there is slow to thaw, but its conductivity, it appears, is sufficient. Wetness, heat, throbbing, play across the bright metallic surface of his hard skin and bone. Sparking sensations. Shooting stars. And. And.

_Ohhhh_.

"I don't believe it."

Tousen enters. "Gin. That one was to be left off, was it not?"

"Ah come on, Kaname. Aren't you curious? I could sell tickets to this. I know a few espada who'd be here with their tongues hanging out. And check this out—he managed it."

On the screen, the unmistakable silhouettes. The fourth espada atop the captive, their bodies naked and entangled. Thrusting.

Aizen enters and stands beside Gin. He studies the screen silently.

"Now are you convinced of the danger?" Tousen says hotly.

Aizen sighs. He reaches forward and touches Ulquiorra's ghosted image with a finger.

"Not in the least."

Tousen steps toward his superior. "You treat him more as—as an equal than a tool. Your favourite perhaps. But a tool he is. And not indispensable."

Aizen straightens and turns to Tousen. "I created the espada as a tool of conquest, to be used, and spent, in battle. To achieve my goals. But robots they are not. And some emerged worthy of the loftiest of titles."

He turns to the screen again. "Some…. Not mere arrancars but… almost… demi-gods."

Gin snorts.

"That's what I mean!" Tousen's indignation is palpable. "They are insubordinate, without principles, bloodthirsty soulsuckers. One step above their origins. Unworthy of trust. Revolting and intemperate in their habits. And you dignify them with the name of demi-gods?"

"And you, Kaname," Aizen purrs without looking up, "are intemperate in your words."

An uneasy silence.

"Well," drawls Gin, eyes still fixed on the screen. "I'm kinda thinking Ulquiorra is a demi-god right now. Look at that. Damn. _My_ hat's off to him."

Aizen turns from the screen to face the director-general again.

"You say he is a tool, Kaname. And dispensable."

He flicks a lock of hair from his eye. "You are quite correct. Indeed he is a tool. And he shall now serve his master." He stands and gestures to another screen across the room.

"Look, gentlemen." He smiles. "Things are becoming interesting. _La reconquista comienza__, _as the more erudite among our espada would say. Our invaders have arrived."

Tousen and Gin follow his gesture and see the exploded wall, the running figures.

"Kaname. Gin."

"Yes." Tousen answers; Gin merely grins.

"No need to rush. Give the fourth… a moment. But please…. Assemble my espada."

"Yes."

"And—Gin? See that there's tea."

He moves his slim hips faster against her. The sparks. The heated hierro. She contains him. That massiveness. The least elegant part of him. She contains it. And finds pleasure. And does not break. _La flaqueza humana_. So strong. _Flaqueza invencible_. It stretches. It does not break. This woman. Who stops time. She can stop it, has stopped it in this room. Nothing else exists. _Que fuerza_.

As his body pushes into hers, again and again, his crystalline mind divides. One part is here, with her, watching her face, her body, smelling her, savouring her pleasure, her tidal wetness, his acute, cerebral perception always maintaining its distance from the hot bursts and swelling waves of pleasure now emanating from his lower body. The other part of him is elsewhere. Lost.

_Air rushes through his wings. He grasps her. High. Her pale legs gripped in his furry ones, talon-guarded. His fur warming her. Her white claw-pressed flesh. Her warm lush breasts pressed to his cold chest. The pinkness. Her eyes that see. Want. Even like this. Her woman-wetness on his fur. Far. Fly. Her arms around his neck. Her soft arms. Weak. Brave. Her warm breath on his face. Fly. His long tail coiled around her. The sun. The sun. Her bright hair floating into his eyes. Mis alas negras te levantan__. She will not fall. High. Far. Over the towers of Las Noches. Tu coraz__ó__n, tan rojo. Alado.__ Take her. Far. Away over the bitter silent sands of Hueco Mundo. High. Far. Weak. Tan fuerte__. He will take her. Never land. En mis manos. Aqui. En mis manos. Al alcance de la vista. Al alcance de mi mano. __There. Escape. Far. She is not afraid. She is not afraid. _

Her paroxysm unites his thoughts again. He feels her heartbeat, her cunt gripping him, clenching him, rippling over him; he sees her wild wet eyes, kisses her desperate avid mouth. And as he pours his own pleasure into her body, gasping once, twice, their eyes meet, and for once it is he who must look away.

_If only. _

_There—is—nowhere._

And it begins_. _The end.

_Desesperaci__ó__n="_Despair." Also, less commonly, "fury."

_En mi pecho="_In my chest." But also used figuratively to mean "heart."

_La reconquista comienza="_The reconquest begins." A reference to Spanish history and what I see as the Muslim/Mudejar character of Las Noches.

_La flaqueza humana="_Human frailty," or "human weakness."

_Flaqueza invencible="_Invincible weakness." Reference to mysticism/Catholicism. Sorry.

_Que fuerza="_What strength."

_Mis alas negras te levantan="_My black wings lift you." Another religious reference (twisted here), but you're probably sick of hearing that.

_Tu coraz__ó__n, tan rojo. Alado.="_Your heart, so red. Winged." The winged heart is a pretty familiar symbol in Spain and Latin America.

_Tan fuerte="_So strong."

_En mis manos. Aqui. En mis manos. Al alcance de la vista. Al alcance de mi mano.=_ "In my hands. Here. In my hands. Within sight. Within grasp."

_6 August 2010: So—there you have it. For now, anyway. I would love to hear from you on some of the issues raised by a couple of the reviewers. What do you think of cunt? (The word, not the thing itself-though that kind of interests me too.) Does the Spanish bother you? I'm noting everything at one reviewer's suggestion (well, s/he suggested just dumping the Spanish, but I'm unwilling to do that so far). Is that helpful or just damn irritating? In real life I practically spit footnotes so it seems a bit tiresome to me…. What about the stream-of-consciousness stuff? And what about the smut factor? Too high, too low, just right? (I didn't know anything in here would be considered kink till someone told me. That's how clueless I am.) I'm going to be writing more stuff, and more lemons, in the next few months (in between other writing—the kind with deadlines and Real-World consequences) and would like to know what you think. _

_And I'll be revising this one in a month or so when I've had a chance to let it sit. _

_Thanks for reading and especially for reviewing_!


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